


Absence

by Ciule



Series: Absence [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Sexual Assault, Cruciatus, Dark Magic, Dubious Consent, F/M, Manipulation, Morally Grey Hermione, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Sexism, Possessive Tom Riddle, Slow Burn, Smut, Time Travel, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex, dark rituals, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-10-29 12:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 147,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20796494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciule/pseuds/Ciule
Summary: She fed the green flash of silent death into the Time-Turner, willing it to go somewhere, to a time where she could change all that had happened, a time where she could stop this madness. A time where she could put an end to him too. But, as it happened, he had other ideas.





	1. Prologue: There Are No Safe Places

**Author's Note:**

> This is my story Absence, previously posted on FFnet. It's around 150 000 words, and what you'll get on AO3 is a cleaned-up version, with hopefully better grammar, a few new scenes and general improvements. 
> 
> I always thought Absence was grey, but people have been telling me it's dark. You can decide for yourself... Please let me know what you think!

"They're breaking in!" Ginny shouted over the blasts thundering through the house.

_ Safe house, _ Hermione thought bitterly. _ No place was safe anymore, not even the Order headquarters. _

Hunted by the Death Eaters, the gang had gotten separated from each other weeks ago in a deadly fight. She had killed two Death Eaters then, but she could not forget the dead stares of Dean and Luna, as they lay unmoving on the forest floor. _ She hadn't been quick enough to save them. And as for Ron and Harry, she had no idea. All she could do was hoping that someone else besides Ginny and herself were still on the loose. Wherever or whoever they were, no one had showed up at 12 Grimmauld Place. Not before the Death Eaters, at least. _

Her shields were failing from the strain of fighting the assault, and she could feel cracks appearing in her perimeter wards to the house. The Death Eaters had put up anti-Apparition wards around the house almost fifteen minutes ago, and she felt a mounting despair. 

Suddenly experiencing an intense pain, her wards broke down, and she gasped as the doors and windows of the house splintered into flying shards. _ Voldemort! _It was all she could do to barely maintain her Protego against the incoming curses and flying objects.

"He is here!" she yelled to Ginny, holding on to her Shield Charm for dear life. But Ginny's eyes only widened, as a hurtling piece of glass from the window cut through her left arm, slicing it into two, neat separate halves by its brutal momentum. With a surprised expression, she fell to her knees, blood pumping relentlessly out from the stump of her arm, before she slowly keeled over on her side. 

Sobbing, Hermione crept up to her, cradling her head in her lap, red hair pooling beneath a face growing paler by the second, the flow of blood soaking into the carpet.

Ginny whispered pained and pale: "Do it quick, Hermione. This is it. Kill me, like we promised. I can't get away anyway. They'll only keep me alive for torture and pain. Use the Time-Turner to go someplace far away in time. Use Nasheegs theorem! Save yourself!"

Hermione realized she was right. All was lost. Crying bitterly, she pointed her wand at Ginny, while clutching the Time-Turner in her fist. 

"_Avada Kedavra_!" she yelled, green light flashing in the room. She fed Ginny's silent death into the small, golden object while hoarsely whispering “_T__empus Sacrificio.” _

The hourglass spun wildly, and she willed it to go _ somewhere, to a time when I can change all that's happened, a time where I can stop this madness. _

As the remains of the door crashed open, she felt the room change into a blur, and then all became black.


	2. Wartime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like a human sacrifice? It probably worked out, then, as she was still alive. Hermione shuddered, feeling like something slithered down her spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a new flashback scene, outlining what happened after Dumbledore’s death.

She opened her eyes with a hoarse, ragged breath, and her heart galloped at a furious rate. The Time-Turner was still clutched in her sweaty palm, and she quickly put the chain around her neck, hiding it from view under her clothes. 

It was dark and silent around her. What had happened? She felt as if she had _ screamed _ her way through time, as something was _ ripped _apart from herself.

Hermione rose quietly, seeing that she was in a nicely decorated living room. Oh yes, this too would be 12 Grimmauld Place, but when was this? _ But it really didn't matter_. _ If this was anytime before Sirius' return, this house would be positively dangerous. She had to get out quickly _.

Counting herself lucky, she was relieved she hadn't landed herself in the middle of a veritable cocktail party of Death Eaters from the Black family. She crept towards the door, opening it carefully and quietly. The house seemed to be in its full splendor, well kept and clean. Moving slowly down the stairs, she fervently hoped that Sirius' mother was slumbering in her portrait. 

But the portrait wasn't there. Instead its space on the wall was bare, albeit with a rather beautiful, silken tapestry. _ When WAS this _?

As she went through the front door, she took a deep, relieved breath. _ Outside. She made it _. Hurrying along the pavement, she suddenly stopped, almost stumbling over a great pile of rubble blocking the street. Looking around her, she saw several empty shells of burnt out houses, chimneys poking through fallen roofs pointing to the night skies. 

Feeling uneasy by the foreboding ruins around her, she started visibly as the quiet was torn asunder by the piercing wail of a siren. _ War. She had landed herself in another war. Just lovely_.

As she heard a low rumble from an engine, a sudden whining, high-pitched sound and an almighty crash from a few blocks away, she Apparated on the spot.

Landing in Hogsmeade, she realized that she had to get some new clothes. If this indeed was wartime Britain, her jeans and sweater would stick out as decidedly odd, especially for such a warm summer night. She wandered the back alleys until she found a backyard where the washing was left outside. Nicking a dress, stockings and some unbelievable large knickers, she stole off to the lake, giving herself a quick wash in the ice-cold water before putting on fresh clothes. The fit wasn't exactly premium, and she felt like she was drowning in those knickers. Shrugging, she briefly regretted having never paid attention to Lavender Brown’s experiments with fitting spells, but at least, these clothes would stay on.

She sat down by the lake, leaning into a tree trunk, enjoying the relative safety of being in the Hogwarts grounds again. The giant squid was waving its tentacles lazily somewhere in the middle of the lake, and the stars shone brightly overhead. _ Wartime Britain_, she mused. She had never heard of anyone travelling so far back in time, but then as far as she knew, no one had tested the spell she had used to power up the Time-Turner either. 

With Ginny, she had researched an obscure Time-travelling theory after coming across one of the darker tomes in the Black family library earlier in the summer. They had discussed the idea of travelling to the distant past to change things, but Harry had put his foot down, saying the spell itself was immoral, making them as bad as the Death Eaters.

She quite agreed, as Nasheegs theorem stated that by using the death of another, the time-traveler would be protected from the risks of travelling too far back in time. _ Like a human sacrifice _. It probably worked out, then, as she was still alive. Hermione shuddered, feeling like something slithered down her spine. 

Allowing herself a moment to grieve over Ginny, her friends, her own life, her own time, the emotions she should feel by any rights were curiously distant. _ It's the shock _ , she explained to herself. Dry-eyed, she relived the moments of horror, feeling an empty ache, like something had shattered inside her. Fiddling with the Time-Turner around her neck, she couldn't shake off a nagging sense of unease. _ Had she damaged her own soul, her ability to feel or her anchor in time itself by killing Ginny to use this spell? It was a mercy killing, wasn’t it? _

_ The days after Dumbledore’s death had been awful, and the rest of the summer even worse. Voldemort had taken the Ministry mere days after Dumbledore’s fall from the Astronomy Tower. Harry’s distress signal for the members of Dumbledore’s Army had gone out almost immediately, and Dean Thomas, Luna, Neville and a few more had answered, gathering at the Burrow with the adult Order of the Phoenix. Almost instantly, the Death Eaters had mounted an attack, killing close to every single adult member of the Order. _

The recollection made her heartbeat quicken, though the now familiar surge of panic, rage and helplessness felt fainter than usual. She tried to ground herself by digging her fingers into the soft earth, but the memories took hold. 

_ The memory of the shattered building around her, and Dolohov standing over her Petrified body, leering at her, made her shudder. He told her in dreadful details what he planned to do to her, before he’d leave her to be used by every other Death Eater in existence. Then the mind-blowing relief flooding her as he toppled backwards, the green flash from Ginny’s wand lightening up the garden shed, and the small redhead standing trembling behind his body, clutching her wand, her own fervent thanks and the quick hug, before the battle commenced. _

_ The head-over-heels escape for the surviving handful to 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry turning it into the Secret-Kept Headquarters of the crumbling resistance flashed through her mind, and the desperate research, the late nights, the sneaking about to get supplies and news flitted by, before she slowed on the night of the Unbreakable Vow. _

_ “Please,” Ginny had said to her one night in the library, as only the two of them were left researching. “Please, I heard what he said to you, Dolohov, I mean. I can hear the way you scream through your nightmares. I … I … don’t think the boys understand what capture would mean. To be held alive, tortured and raped like that… Will you do me a favour? Let’s make an Unbreakable Vow, promising to kill each other rather than risking capture. I’d rather die than … suffer that.” _

_ Hermione had only nodded, before she brought out her wand. _

_ One night, Seamus hadn’t returned from the grocery shopping, and after an agonizing wait, Harry had decided they had to leave Grimmauld. Then the hunt started in earnest. No matter where they fled, the Death Eaters came after them, and skirmishes and regular battles happened more and more frequently, while food and supplies were scarce, then almost non-existent, as they fled desperately from place to place. Slowly, the Death Eaters managed to split them up, some of their group being killed, some driven apart during fights, and at last, it was only her and Ginny, returning to Grimmauld to see if anyone else had gone there, to see if anyone but themselves were still alive. _

_ And now, her Vow was fulfilled. _

xxxx

After a long time, her thoughts turned to the present. _ Why wartime Britain? _ Did this mean that she would have the chance of killing Lord Voldemort before he came into his full strength? Maybe, if she was lucky, she had landed in a time before he had made his first Horcruxes? She'd kill him, even though it unraveled time itself and changed the future. _ He deserved that _!

Xxxx

Come morning, she went up to the castle, asking to speak to Albus Dumbledore. A flustered House-elf by the name of Widdy showed her to the office belonging to the Transfiguration classroom. _ Oh yes, he held the position as Transfiguration teacher in the forties_, she remembered. 

The office was full of books, but she noticed that it wasn't as cluttered by magical objects as his future office. _ Maybe he hadn't acquired so much stuff yet, or maybe the objects belonged to the Headmaster’s office _?

"How may I help you, Miss…?" the middle aged wizard said kindly, his blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Professor Dumbledore," she said formally, "I require your help. I'm Hermione Granger, and I am a Time traveler. I know you from the future, and I have come to this time to prevent a catastrophe from happening."

His eyebrows shot up, and shock permeated his features. "Miss Granger! You can't tell me anything, you must know the laws of time! Changing things may destroy… "

"I know," she cut him off, wearily. "I realize the dangers, but you must believe me. I am from the year 1997, and I have known you for years. I won't tell you any details, but this should suffice: In the future there's war in the wizarding world too, all because one very evil and powerful wizard. We are losing – your side is losing, and so many people have died. I have come back to prevent this, and I know this may destroy everything or create an alternative timeline. But the thing is, you see, everything has been lost already. An alternate timeline would be better by far than what has actually happened. Will you allow me to show you a few memories?"

He stared at her sharply. "What's my favorite sweet?" he said abruptly.

She smiled. "Easy. Lemon drops. And your phoenix is named Fawkes. And you promised us: Help will always be given at Hogwarts for those who ask. Does it still apply in this day, this time?"

Dumbledore became very quiet, the only thing moving in his face was his eyes, blinking rapidly.

She concentrated on the memories she wanted to show him: her first day at Hogwarts and her Sorting, Fawkes in his office, Dumbledore as he locked them in to save Buckbeak, the fight at the Ministry, and some recent war memories, excluding all memories with the name Tom Riddle. Opening her mind to him, she said: "Will you please take a look?"

To feel him rummage through her memories was strange. His touch was featherlight and friendly, but his face became grave, as he saw the desperation of their war efforts.

Hiding his eyes for a moment behind his hand, he answered: "I will help you. But you must never tell me anything more than this. I don't even want to know who this dangerous wizard is, or why you think you can stop him at this particular point in time."

Nodding, she said: "What year is it, exactly? I only know it is somewhere in the forties."

Giving her a surprised look, he told her it was the 30 August, 1944. Blanching, she realized that it was too late. Voldemort had already created his first two Horcruxes. _ Still, it was only the two. Yes, she could still do this _.

Gathering her thoughts, she said firmly: "I want to enroll for the seventh year. I have completed my sixth year, and my grades are better than most. I also want people to know that I'm from the future. I won't tell any details, but there is such a difference between my time and this, that I need to give some sort of explanation as to why I seem odd. I just want to tell them that I'm lost in time by an accident."

"No, this is breaking the laws of time, Miss Granger! It will be too dangerous!" Those blue eyes looked gravely at her, and he pulled at his auburn beard absently. 

"I believe it's vital that people know. Then it will be easier for me to guard my secrets too. Some people will pry, but it will help me to be aware of the danger at all times. To create a believable story that I can manage to stick to will be very difficult. People will wonder about a girl no one has ever heard of joining Hogwarts in the seventh year. They will be curious as to why I have no family, and how I acquired my magic skills. I can't speak German, so I can't possibly fake a background from Durmstrang, and my French is not good enough to make anyone believe that I have completed six years at Beauxbaton. I know next to nothing about American wizards and their way of life. If I tried to pass off something like that, my behavior would raise suspicions and speculations quite quickly. I promise you, I won't tell anyone about the future." 

_ Yes, she had him, she could see his resolve slipping. _

Continuing, she said: "Also, I want to be Sorted again. It may be that my mission requires another House, though I love Gryffindor."

He gave her a long, searching look, finally nodding. "I'll help you, Hemione Granger. You have my word. School is starting soon, and we need to determine your N.E.W.T. studies."

Smiling, she proudly showed him the memories of her OWL tests and the results.

Xxxx

Later in the day, Dumbledore took her to see Headmaster Dippet. The Headmaster's office was impeccable in its tidiness, with neatly organized folders on his clean desk, and all the books were sorted alphabetically in their shelves. Dippet himself was a portly, bald man, whose surprise at her story took no end.

"The future? So far in the future? 1997? How is this even possible?"

She tried to tell him it was an accident, but he just wouldn't stop talking.

"Albus, did you think such a thing possible? I guess many things will be made possible by new discoveries, but how come we've never had time-travelers before? I just think it is so odd."

His voice droned on and on, and Hermione felt herself involuntarily shutting out his voice. Looking around in the Headmasters office, she saw the Sorting Hat sitting on a stool in the corner. Oddly, she felt as if the Hat was looking at her.

Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly, and Dippet stopped himself.

"Excuse me, Miss Granger, I must be rambling. I understand that you do want to attend Hogwarts to finish your seventh year? That's admirable of you, and I do want to encourage young people to seek knowledge. We will of course admit you, and I can understand the worry about your fellow students picking up on anything out of the ordinary. However, to tell everyone about this extraordinary feat of time travelling, I'm not so sure…"

Dumbledore replied in his deep voice: "Sometimes, the best place to hide is in plain truth. The students will be curious about the new student anyway. I believe it's better to tell the truth, than to make Hermione and us to weave herself into a web of complicated lies. This way, she will not be found out by accident."

"I suppose you're right as always, Albus," Dippet said. Smiling at Hermione, he continued, "I feel that Hogwarts will be proud of having you as a student. Why don't we get this Sorting over?"

As the Hat went over her head, it said with a fair amount of surprise: "Lost in time, are you? What brings you to the past, Hermione Jean Granger?"

“Please, Sort me to Slytherin” she whispered fervently. 

"What? You have traces of a true Gryffindor, and the makings of an exceptionally bright Ravenclaw," the Hat said with amusement.

"Yes, I was in Gryffindor somewhere along in the future. But could you please, please put me in Slytherin instead? I have a very clear ambition, a strong mind, and I've learned more about politicking than I ever wanted to learn. Please? I have a mission, and I NEED Slytherin!"

"Well," the Hat said a little warily. "Your memories tell me that you have done a few things that only a Slytherin would consider. There's also something decidedly odd about your mind, a curious hole, like there is a small piece of you that's lacking, though I cannot see what it means. It makes it difficult to Sort you correctly. The cause might, of course, be your age, or the fact that you are a time traveler. But, when you're this sure," the Hat concluded, shouting: "I give you SLYTHERIN!"

Xxxx

In the evening, she relaxed in the library. It seemed unnaturally quiet without the usual whispering of students, but the thousands of books made her feel at home. The dusty smell of books and parchment, leather and polished wood comforted her. She was sipping a cup of lovely, hot chocolate with whipped cream brought her by Widdy – delicious even though the very idea of House-elf enslavement made her cringe inside.

Curling up into her chair, she thought: _ Voldemort has already made two Horcruxes, the diary and the Gaunt ring. I will need to finish his Horcruxes before I can try to kill him, and to find them, I must get close to him. His interest will be picked by my time travelling, and my brains and academic prowess will show him that I'm useful. I will do whatever it takes, even become a pretend Death Eater if need be_.

She squared her shoulders, steeling herself for what she had to do. But for now, she would just sit quietly, drinking her chocolate, and remember happier times at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom Riddle will be in the next chapter, I promise.


	3. Delicious as Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But she knew who this was, and she knew what he was by first glance. Tom Riddle was a player. No one had ever told her any such thing, and she'd never read anything indicating him even showing the slightest interest in girls either. Still, she was absolutely sure.

With borrowed money from school funds adding to her own meagre purse, she Apparated from Hogsmeade into Diagon Alley the next day. First stop was the seamstress, for ordering a full wardrobe of clothes, including two gowns, something the seamstress impressed upon her that every girl simply _ needed_. She received some odd looks as to why she needed to replace everything, but she simply told the shopkeeper that all her clothes had been destroyed in a Muggle bomb attack, all due to faulty wards on the house. 

Next was, of course, Flourish and Blotts. Soaking in the feeling of being surrounded by brand new books again, she enjoyed herself immensely as she picked out books for all her ten N.E.W.T. subjects, as well as a few others for a bit of lighter reading.

Turning the corner of a shelf, she smacked into a tall body, almost losing her balance and definitively losing control of her levitated stack of books. Strong hands steadied her, and a quick “_Wingardium Leviosa” _spoken in a deep, smooth baritone kept her books airborne.

Her eyes traveled up, up, up, and she felt herself blush. It had to be the sexiest young… man … _ absolutely not a boy _, she noted, she'd ever laid her eyes on. Tall, well-sculpted with a broad chest and shoulders, immaculate but pale skin, beautiful but strong male features. Dark, piercing eyes that she felt like drowning in, even though they seemed rather cold. He had full, dark hair, and he simply smelled deliciously. She almost wanted to rub against him, like she was a cat rubbing against the legs of a tolerated human.

"Are you all right?" he said, smiling down at her. 

His smile did not extend to his eyes, but then his eyes was busy first looking at her face and then roving down her body. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure, Miss…?" and he lifted her right hand with a self-assured smile, placing a kiss on the back of her hand. Her whole arm tingled by the contact.

"Hermione Granger," she whispered weakly. "And you are…?"

But she knew who this was, and she knew what he was by first glance. _ Tom Riddle was a player_. No one had ever told her any such thing, and she'd never read anything indicating him even showing the slightest interest in girls either. Still, she was absolutely sure. _ He was a player, and by his looks and his slightly arrogant demeanor, he was getting a lot_. _ Or_, she amended to herself, _ he would be if this was the nineties. Maybe it was different in the forties? _

"Tom Riddle. You're quite the devoted student, aren't you?" he said, looking with interest at her sizeable stack of books. "From your books, I gather that you are starting the seventh year at Hogwarts, and doing almost all subjects – but not … Divination?"

"Well, yes. I want to pursue an academic career," she responded, smiling at him. Inside, she was telling herself repeatedly: _ You need to get close to him. Don't think about who he is. Make him want to get to know you. Don't think about the fact that you’re Muggleborn. Make him become interested. Don't think about Harry, Ginny, Ron and… Don't think, Hermione! _

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm intrigued. Very few witches or wizards have the capacity or interest for that kind of magical work load. You're doing as many subjects as me."

"And did you pick Divination?" she asked in a playful tone.

He replied, rolling his eyes: "Divination is absolutely useless. Either you have the ability, or you don't. And I don't."

She laughed. "I quite agree with you. Spinning stories out of tea leaves isn't my idea of fun."

"I haven't seen you at Hogwarts before. Are you transferring from Durmstrang or Beauxbaton?" he asked with curiosity.

_ Showtime_, she thought. Smiling sweetly at him, she said: "Actually, no. I'm a Hogwarts student, but you see, I'm from the future. I've had a Time travel accident, and now I'm stranded here."

First, he was clearly shocked, and then his eyes changed, his expression almost hungry. "From the future? How did that happen? And what's it like – what time are you from?"

"I'm not at liberty to tell you any details. You know, it might change something, and the consequences may be dire."

"But I'd like to know all about it – and you," he said, with a dangerous, silky quality to his voice, looking her deep in the eyes. "May I buy you a sundae at Florean Fortescue's? Their ice-creams are delicious. I can tell you everything you need to know about Hogwarts today, and maybe you'll tell me something about the future in return?" He flashed her a smile that _screamed_ seduction, leaning into her to take her arm. Suddenly, it felt difficult to breathe normally.

Sitting down outside the ice cream parlor with two enormous chocolate sundae, paid by him, she felt a little queasy. _ This felt almost like a date. And having Lord Voldemort buying her ice cream was downright absurd. _

"I'm also in the seventh year, and have just been promoted Head Boy," he told her. "Hogwarts is reckoned as a good school – I of course don't know anything about what the school is like in the future – but still there's only a few students I would call decently bright. Most are poor or abysmal. Which House do you belong to – that is, if you still do Sorting in the year…?"

"Slytherin," she said, giving him a friendly smile, glossing over his question of which year she was Sorted. "But they had to Sort me anew yesterday. After all, I'm not born yet, and I might have changed from the age of eleven to 17."

"You're at least 17 years behind your own time? That is something! I'm in Slytherin too, by the way. I'm pleased to have you in our noble House."

Telling her about the teachers as they ate their sundaes, he concluded: "You'll probably want to fall asleep in History of Magic, though, even I have trouble concentrating. Professor Binns doesn't exactly vary his lectures."

She started laughing, saying: "Binns? Trust me, I know!"

His forehead creasing, he replied: "How can you know? He is old as a rock, so I thought he'd be retiring any day now. He can't possibly be teaching more than 17 years ahead in time!"

Shaking her head with mirth, she told him: "I guess this strictly is breaking the rules of time, but it can't possibly do any damage. Binns will continue teaching, probably forever, as a ghost."

His expression aghast, he said: "What a way to spend immortality. Just shows the man has no imagination at all".

"Oh, well… I'm not sure immortality is such a good idea," she answered slowly, looking at his face. She wondered: _ How does he react when discussing such things? _

He looked at her face, with a faint, but amused smile. His eyes moved to her hands, and he reached out and took hold of her left hand, his fingers slowly and deliciously tickling the inside of her palm.

Suddenly, she felt him slamming into her mind with brutal force. Reacting quickly, she shoved him out with equal violence, raising a shield at the same time to ward off new attacks. She could never have done that when he came to his full strength, but still she fought for control and managed it – barely. _ Attempted mind rape, that's was the only way to describe what he had tried to do. It just showed he was as ruthless now as later in his life. _

Blinking, he said: "A natural Occlumens? You're stronger than most people." All the while he kept on tickling her palm, stroking her wrist lightly, just as if nothing untoward had happened.

"A natural Legilimens? You're way stronger than most people,” she replied to him, trying out a bit of flattery to gauge his reaction. "But my mind is my own," she added with steel in her voice.

Giving her a predatory smile, he said slowly: "You might be the most interesting thing that has happened in my time at Hogwarts." Lifting her hand, he pressed a quick kiss to her wrist.

Her mind screamed: _ He's a fucking sociopath, all he wants is to rule the world!_ But still, she shivered with something akin to pleasure by his touch, feeling goosebumps breaking out all over. "Oh, I don't know. The future is quite exciting." She arched an eyebrow knowingly at him.

"Is my name known in the future?" he asked hesitantly, almost like he didn't want to know the answer. 

Smiling wickedly, she leaned in and whispered: "Trust me, Tom Riddle, you will make a name for yourself." He let out a sigh, almost involuntary, the hunger in his eyes increasing.

Gathering himself, he asked: "How did your OWLs go? That is, I see the amount of books you bought, so I guess you did excellent."

"I got ten OWLs. Nine O's, though and one E," she said, still feeling a little bitter. He suddenly seemed a little relieved.

"Which was the E?"

"Defense Against the Darks Arts," she murmured darkly.

He looked a little smug, saying: "That's my favorite."

She barely caught herself from saying _ I know_, but changed it quickly into a question. "Errr… All O's for you?"

"Yes. Never had less in anything." _ Damn. He just had to be absolutely brilliant_.

Sullenly, she said: "I'm used to be the best in my year. I guess I have to step up to the competition."

"I'll be on top of you, I promise," he told her, his eyes smoldering. "And I just love winning after a good fight." The innuendo was shockingly clear, and Hermione almost froze in her seat, the ice cream roiling uncomfortably in her tummy.

Recovering, she said a little affronted: "I'm not used to losing, and I don't give in easily." His eyes darkened, and she thought: _ Stupid you, you're supposed to make friends with him!_ Quickly amending the situation, she continued teasingly: "At least, not unless I've met someone who's more than a match for me. So far, that hasn't happened though." Giving him a slow smile, she let her eyes linger on his face for a moment, before looking down pretending to be shy. Still she caught his quick, triumphant look.

After a short silence, he asked: "Are you staying at the Leaky Cauldron, or do you have a place in the city?"

"I'm at the Leaky Cauldron. I will be on the train tomorrow morning with the rest of you," she said.

"I'll escort you to your rooms." He rose, taking her arm, and levitated all their shopping bags. 

Entering the bar, he leaned down to whisper in her ear: "We really should indulge before school starts. How about a Firewhisky?"

She felt like this was a bad, bad idea. Drinking with Lord Voldemort in a pub? Even worse than having him buy her ice cream. _ No_, she told herself. _ Stop thinking about him like that. You need to get to know this younger version of him. He's still evil, but if you're about to stop him, you really need to befriend him – somewhat, without letting it go out of line_.

"Ok," she said a little hesitantly. "But just one drink. I need to pack all my things for the train ride tomorrow."

Leaning into the counter, he ordered two snifters of Firewhisky. He was so tall, she noted, he towered over the barman. _ And far too handsome_.

"So, where do you live?" she asked, silently wondering if he still was at the orphanage during summers.

"I grew up in London," he said curtly. "But this summer I've mostly been away. I inherited a house, and there was a couple of things that I needed to take care of".

"Oh. I'm sorry for your loss," she replied. Hermione didn't think for a second that he was sorry at all, but she did feel curious. _ Would he pretend to be grieving _?

He frowned a little, but said: "Thanks. I didn't know them, though."

The bartender delivered their drinks to the counter. and smoke rose from their glasses as they clinked them.

"Cheers to a new school year, Miss Granger. I look forward to competing with you. May the best man win!" He grinned, putting emphasis on the word ‘man’.

She stuck her tongue out at him, but smiled cheekily. "Cheers. I will give you a run for the money, Tom Riddle, like you've never experienced before!" They both laughed, and downed their drinks in one big gulp.

Blinking, she suddenly felt a little woozy. "I need to get going, but thanks for the drink and for you time today. I really appreciated you telling me so much about Hogwarts," she said.

"It was my pleasure. But you didn't tell me much about my future in return. Maybe you can make it up to me at some other time," he said. Moving closer to her, he reached out and played with one of her curls, smoothing it behind her left ear, letting his fingers trail over her earlobe and neck. She shivered a little.

"Why don't you let me carry your bags to your room," he suggested, slowly moving his eyes down to her breasts.

Pulling back, she oddly enough felt as if she didn't want to. Instead she said brightly: "I couldn't do that, Mr. Riddle, but thanks for the offer. You have been so nice and helpful to me today. I really appreciate that." 

As she left, her walk a tad unsteady, she let her shopping bags trail after her in the air. Glancing at him as she went through the door, she saw his incredulous look. He was almost gaping. Smiling to herself, she thought: _ Granger versus Lord Voldemort: 1-0. In all probability, he's never been turned down before. I intend to make it a habit. _

Her reaction to the tension and pressure she had felt all afternoon came when she had locked the door, and sprinting towards the bathroom, she threw up violently. _ The man, the whisky or the stress and pressure_? _ That's the question, _she thought to herself as the heaving subsided. She took a deep breath, and cleansed her mouth by a quick Evanesco and a glass of water.

Resting her head on the sink, her thoughts churned. _ This will be more difficult than she had planned for. Never had she imagined the young Voldemort like this. Charming, handsome and thirsty for knowledge, absolutely. But nothing had prepared her for how convincing he would be, and never in a lifetime had she imagined sexual advances from him. And never, ever had she imagined that she would, on some level, enjoy it_.

Feeling disgusted with herself, she rose slowly. Looking at her pale face in the mirror, she made a promise:

_ I will get close to him, but I most certainly will not be a conquest. I need to find his Horcruxes, and for that he must let his guard down. Afterwards I can kill him. But I'll do whatever it takes to get close, except land myself in his bed. I've always thought playing hard to get is silly, but in this case it might just do the trick. He won't have me! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Tom Riddle has entered the story!


	4. The Ride to Slytherin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Granger could be a powerful ally. If not, I won't mind just bedding her. In fact, I might do both."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for giving kudos and comments! <3

At the train station, she ran into Riddle at platform 9 ¾. After spending an afternoon with him, she half expected that she would have adjusted to his good looks. _ Clearly, she was wrong_. 

Her breath still caught by seeing his sharp cheekbones, full mouth and those dark eyes that made her feel as if she was about to fall over a precipice, like a dizzying pull into the abyss. Still, the very sight of him at the same time both revolted and scared her. _ She so wanted to put and end to him for all the things he was going to do to her world_. Swallowing deeply before giving him a wide smile, she nodded at him. 

Giving her a quick smile in return, he asked:

"How was your morning?" Obviously, he wasn't mad at her for refusing him. At least, he wasn't showing any anger. 

Without waiting for her answer, he grabbed her arm, and said: "Come, sit with me and my friends," and led her to the train, helping her up the stairs into the train carriage.

She noted that the train looked almost exactly as it did fifty years later, with small compartments and narrow seats. _ Harry, Ginny, Ron, Neville, Luna _– she felt a dull buzz of longing for safety, blinking with dry eyes as she walked behind Riddle in the corridor.

There were seven of his friends in the compartment, all male, all looking like plenty of money. _ Death Eaters to be _, she thought, feeling a chill moving down her spine. 

"Who is she?" a big, burly boy mouthed silently to Riddle, somehow thinking that she wouldn't notice. _ She had a sinking, sneaking suspicion that this might be Antonin Dolohov, and she felt gooseflesh erupt on her arms, trying to hide her revulsion at the sight of him. He had wanted to rape her, back in the future, he had planned to violate her, he had cursed her in her fifth year, and… _

Her train of thoughts were interrupted, as Riddle just gave a tiny shake of his head as a warning to the boys. Dolohov sank back into his seat in sullen silence. 

"Everyone, this is our new, lovely smart girl in Slytherin, Miss Hermione Granger," he said. "I want all of you to take good care of her as she is new to this year." He flashed her a knowing smile, making her understand that he had told the truth without anyone realizing the importance of his words. The boys looked at her with a mix of something akin to surprise, consternation and confusion.

"Smart girl? That's a novelty," drawled a blond, tall boy. _ Ferret-face, must be a Malfoy_, she thought, feeling an immediate dislike for him.

"Yes, I am smart," she said, giving them a wide, disarming smile. "Arithmancy is my favorite subject."

The ferret boy guffawed, and the rest of them smiled.

"My dear young lady, I've never heard of such a beautiful girl doing Arithmancy," another boy said. He was thin, with spiky short-cropped, black hair and dark blue eyes. "My name is Cygnus Black, and I'm pleased to meet you."

"Abraxas Malfoy here, by the way," said the ferret-boy. "But pray tell me, how far are you into advanced Householding spells?"

"Householding…?" Hermione asked, nonplussed. The boys laughed even more.

"Well, as it's a mandatory subject for girls, I thought it was only natural to ask," the Malfoy boy said with an evil grin.

"What, mandatory? No one told me about the subject! I haven't even bought the books!" she said shrilly, feeling a virulent conflict between worry for not being prepared for classes and a strong feel of derision – _ seriously, Householding spells_? _ She was a warrior, not a budding house-wife! _

Another of the boys tapped his lips thoughtfully as he told her: "My name is Edmund Rosier. It seems that someone forgot to tell you that you won't be able to take Arithmancy, because that's always scheduled at the same time as Householding. The girls attend Householding, and the boys do Arithmancy. After all, what would a girl do with Arithmancy? Most marry within a year after finishing Hogwarts, and keeping house are after all a woman's duty."

Hermione felt her face fell. _ No Arithmancy? And learning cleaning spells instead! _Living in the past definitely had some unfortunate side effects. Slowly, she asked: "So very few women work?"

"Why, yes!" Rosier replied. "Did you grow up under a rock? Only exceptionally ugly girls work and remains spinsters. The rest marry and keep house. And working is surely not to be _ your _fate, with a pretty face like that."

Her mouth agape, she stared at him. _ Seriously, did he just say that? What was she to do after finishing school if she had to stay here for more than the school year? There was no way she’d want to marry and keep house for a wizard who couldn’t even tie his own shoelaces! _ The boys laughed uproariously at her incredulous expression.

After the initial unpleasantness, the rest of them introduced themselves politely, and she shivered by hearing all the well-known Death Eater names. Rosier, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Black, Lestrange and yes, Dolohov… 

_ The sight of him almost made her want to vomit, though he felt less threatening as a sixth year student than as a seventy year old Death Eater. She felt relief, though, that he was a year younger than herself. At least, she wouldn’t see him in class. Still, there was this awful feeling that he had … bested her. He had made her helpless, Petrifying her, and she would have been raped and tortured, if it wasn’t for Ginny. _

Shoulders slumping, she also felt an acute disappointment, and a slowly simmering anger. _ Keeping house and doing Household spells? Marrying, not working or studying? No Arithmancy because it wasn't useful for a girl, and a world where men could taunt her with her lack of opportunities. What kind of place was this? _She hadn't realized the forties would be such a sexist place. 

Seeing her confusion and vexedness, Riddle leaned in to her, saying softly: "You can study Arithmancy with me, after classes. I'll keep you up with the class." 

Looking at him, she actually felt thankful. "Would you do that? I really appreciate that," she answered with a small smile.

The train ride was quiet. The Slytherin boys chattered, read books and played Exploding Snap, and Hermione curled up against the window, reading the second half of the Charms textbook. Riddle himself was reading as well, but she didn't recognize the book, and there were no letters on the old, leather-bound cover. _ Probably something dark and dangerous _, she rather thought.

After a trip to the bathroom, she stopped just outside the compartment, listening to the voices from within. _ They've held back because of her presence, _ she realized. Leaning into the wall, staying out of view, she tried to follow the muffled conversation. _ Someone forgot warding against eavesdropping, _ she snickered spitefully to herself.

"What's she doing riding with us, Tom?" Sebastian Lestrange asked. "Are you making her a part of us, or is she just one of your usual conquests?"

"Yeah, I wonder too," Edmund Rosier said. "Ok, she's smart, but she's still a girl. Does she really have what it takes to join us?"

"I'm not sure, yet," his deep voice replied. "She's very clever, strong in magic, and she might be useful for me."

"If she's so smart, how come she isn't in Ravenclaw?" Marvin Crabbe asked. She heard a collective sigh in the compartment, and the sound of someone smacking their forehead.

"As you've probably noticed by now, _ I'm _in Slytherin," Riddle answered drily. "That means Ravenclaws aren't the only ones with a certain level of intelligence. But you've accidentally stumbled on one of the reasons Granger interests me. Because her being in Slytherin means that the Hat saw something in her mind that makes her something more than simply a studious, clever girl. She's got to have some of the qualities Slytherin himself appreciated, and I wonder what that could be. Granger could be a powerful ally. If not, I won't mind just bedding her. In fact, I might do both."

She gasped a little, blushing furiously behind the door, and the boys on the other side snickered.

"I follow you on that one," Dolohov said. "Please let me know when you're done with her, she’s a looker. I don't mind your leftovers." Drawing a shocked gasp - _ that little shit was as perverted now as he would be in the future _\- she heard a sudden burst of laughter, that suddenly cut off, followed by a silence she could only describe as uneasy. 

_ What was going on inside_? Deciding she had to get back before her absence caused suspicions, she backtracked a little in the corridor, before walking up to the door and entering. In the compartment, everything seemed just like before she had left for the loo. 

_ But, she had learned something important. They already considered themselves a group under his leadership, and these seven boys made up the core of his followers. _

Xxxx

Some time after the trolley had passed and the cauldron cakes were devoured as only teenage boys could do, darkness began to fall. Tom shooed his cronies out – _ to be alone with her _, she wondered. 

So it seemed, as he scooted closer to her. He did the old, transparent stretching of his arms, ending with his arm slung around her shoulder. Her breath caught, and he smiled, leaning in to her. She turned her head away, feigning sleepiness, and rested her head on his shoulder. But it was so warm and comfortable, and she oddly and very irrationally felt safe – _ after all, she was on the Hogwarts train, never mind whose shoulder her head rested on, and it was just for a moment, and then she would lift her head, and _…

… she woke up, as she was lifted inside a thestral carriage. Maybe she woke because a lot of students were talking and laughing around her, or maybe it was because she felt the cold from outside as a contrast to his body heat. _ Oh no. _ She blushed, hiding her face into his chest. _ Her arrival to Hogwarts was to be carried off the train and into the wagon, asleep, by the school's probably number one player, who also happened to be the most evil wizard Britain had ever seen. What a way to start a new life and a new reputation. _

She looked at the thestrals, realizing that she could see them now. Following her eyes, he asked: "You can see them too?" Retracting her eyes, she nodded. _ He has already killed, you know_, she reminded herself. He might pretend to be a gentleman and a flirt, but he is already a vicious killer who has wiped out his family, landing his uncle into Azkaban.

"Who died, Miss Granger?" His voice carried an odd intensity.

"I don't want to talk about it," she snapped at him. "They died recently."

"My condolences." He put his arm around her again, pulling her back into his arm again. And finally, she felt tears pooling in her eyes by the thought of all the deaths – all caused by this man who was comforting her now. _ Remember_, she told herself sternly, _ he isn't comforting you. He is just trying to control you and bed you_.

As they were about to enter the Great Hall, he offered her his arm. She stared at him for a moment, before coming to terms with the fact that this just might be polite behavior in the forties. Drawing herself up as far as her slight stature allowed, she put her hand on his arm and entered, looking around her with a proud gaze. _ Like she belonged in Slytherin, with arrogance a mile high_. Whispers followed them as they went for the head of the Slytherin table.

The Great Hall was awe-inspiring as usual. The sky was a soft darkness with a myriad of stars, and the floating lights shone underneath. Headmaster Dippet made a short speech, and he informed every one that Hermione had had a time-travel accident: 

"Our Hermione, as she indeed is now, is lost in time. Not one of you have the right to ask her about the future, and every single one of you has a duty to help her adjust. Please welcome her to our school and our time – and do your best to make her feel at home!" The Hall broke out in excited murmurs, and some people even stood up to get a better look at her.

After the speech, Edmund Rosier gave her an apologetic smile, saying: "I'm sorry I was rude to you on the train. I guess girls do different things in the future. It's exciting having a girl from the future in our house! Will you accept my apology?"

"Yes," she said. "You're quite right, girls do other things in the future, not only keeping house. But I guess I'll need some help adjusting to how things are done in this age."

Sebastian Lestrange asked her: "I can't really place your name. Which family are you from?" All of the Slytherin table turned, looking with interest at her. She almost rolled her eyes. _ Here we go. Pure-blood maniacs all the way_.

Pleased that she had prepared an answer for this, she told him: "I can't tell you. My parents eloped and changed their names because of families not being, well, on friendly terms. Telling you might change something in the future, and I'd rather not end up unborn." She smiled at him. "You know, I could be a descendant from one in this room!"

He gaped at her, eyes wide. "How far in the future do you come from?"

"Sorry, I can't tell you," she said, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

"Well", he mused, "what your parents did, or rather what they are going to do, isn't unheard of. I myself know at least three different cases of eloping couples in my recent family history, that is within the last 300 years."

Then Lestrange got a sly look in his eyes, and called out: "Hey Malfoy, did you hear that? I bet you are her dad! You probably eloped with Muriel* Weasley!" 

The pale Malfoy heir reddened, choking on his pumpkin juice, and sprayed the table with spittle.

The whole table was shrieking with laughter, and a red-headed, exceptionally pretty girl rose from the Gryffindor table, shaking her fist in anger to Lestrange and Malfoy: "I heard that, you filthy piece of shit! Never in your wettest dreams, Malfoy!"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for use of swearwords and impolite behavior!” Riddle shouted to her, a slightly gleeful look in his eyes.

"You can't do that!" Muriel Weasley yelled at him.

"Sure I can, didn't you listen to the Headmaster? I'm the new Head Boy!" Everyone on the Gryffindor table groaned.

Smiling a little to herself, Hermione thought: Some things, like house enmities, apparently doesn't change.

Celebrating back to school with the Slytherins simply felt different. The students weren't as friendly to each other as she was used to from Gryffindor, and it was obvious that there were strong undercurrents of power grabbing competitions going on. The conversations were polite, but with sarcastic remarks and hidden insults. People seemed keen to show off their strengths, like family wealth, blood status, powerful relatives and connections, and they were just as eager to pounce on any perceived weaknesses among their fellow students.

It made her nervous, and having an attentive Voldemort sitting a tad too close to her didn't help at all. He introduced her to people, fetched sweets and drinks to her, and told her entertaining stories of life in the Slytherin House – just like the charming Head Boy he was pretending to be. 

But she knew it was a pretense, and she fought to hold her mixed feelings in check, striving to let neither her fear, revulsion and the odd, tingling attraction show. _ Stupid girl _ , she berated herself. _ Can't meet a good-looking man without swooning, even though he's the most evil wizard ever_.

She saw any number of girls from all House tables shooting her jealous glances, even from the Gryffindor table. _ By that, she knew she was right. The girls adored him – and he thoroughly enjoyed that_. It was obvious from the smug, satisfied look in his eyes, and the way he pretended not to notice the interest. 

Still, it was clear to everyone who watched, tonight his eyes were all for her. As he took her arm and led the Slytherins out of the Great Hall to their dungeon, she felt the burning stares of literally hundreds of disappointed girls in her back.

The dungeon wasn't cosy like the Gryffindor common room. It had a severe, gloomy feel, with uncomfortable, high-backed chairs and a dark green color scheme. The light from the fireplace had a greenish, unnatural color, and as she looked more closely, it became clear that what fueled the fire wasn't wood, but instead some kind of gnarled seaweed. The smoke gave off a salty and unfamiliar tang. 

People were standing in groups, and, to Hermione's amazement, many were drinking. She felt almost like she had gatecrashed a rather posh cocktail party, but several girls clustered quickly around her.

A dark-haired beauty said: "So, you and Tom have known each other for some time? You seem very… friendly to each other." Her smile was not at all pleasant.

Hermione smiled at her, gushing: "He was so kind as to help me when I did my school shopping. I don't believe we've been introduced previously?"

The girl snorted, and her eyes glittered with malice and pride. "I'm Walburga Black. I gather that even in the future, the name of Black will be known to the wizarding community. You seem rather … uninformed … about the great families?"

Hermione just couldn't help herself. _ The portrait of this girl - the woman she would become - had been flinging insults at her for years at 12 Grimmauld Place. _She made her eyes wide, and took Walburga’s hand, saying in a low voice: "My goodness! I'm so sorry." Then she gave a small gasp, feigning shock, continuing: "Please forget what I said. It's not important – it's nothing. I'm sure your family is … alright."

Hiding a smile, she saw Walburgas frown grow into confusion and uneasiness, before she shook her hand free from Hermione's grasp and left. Two of the other girls giggled, and stepped closer to her. 

A tall, pretty blonde, Hermione thought her name might be Mariette Penilworth, murmured to her: "Nicely handled, whether or not you were telling the truth. Not many bests Walburga when she's in a mood. By the way, it seems like you will be in our dorm." Her eyes shone with curiosity, but she wasn't unfriendly.

The other girl was very short, with long, dark hair almost as unruly as Hermione's own. She, on the other hand, was grinning, almost bouncing on her feet. "I'm Joanna Parkinson, and I'm SO pleased to meet you! Never mind Walburga, she's a right bore, and she's also in our dorm. But you, Mariette and me, we're going to have fun together – I can already tell! And," her voice lowered into a conspiratory whisper, "you must tell us how you met Riddle and if there is ANYTHING between you."

Hermione had to smile at her enthusiasm, and felt a little grateful for being met with friendliness in the strange, competitive atmosphere the Slytherins seemed to enjoy. She shook her head, though, and answered: "I'm pleased to meet you too, but there is absolutely nothing between me and Riddle."

Mariette lifted her eyebrows, and shared an amused glance with Joanna. "Oh, is that right? Does he agree with you on that sentiment? You see, when he takes an interest in a girl it usually – no, strike that – always ends with something rather than nothing."

Hermione suddenly felt cold, but kept up her smile. "I can assure you, there's nothing. I ran into him in Diagon Alley, and then again on the train. He was merely being friendly." 

_ Remember _ , she told herself, _ you've just met him. It will be odd if you let anyone know that you have suspicions about the Head Boy. _

Joanna laughed, and held up a finger admonishingly: "He is always nice and friendly, just never as friendly like that, I can tell you. You actually sat in his compartment on the train? I don't think he has ever allowed anyone outside his group of friends to join them on the train."

"And he carried you to the wagons," Mariette continued, her voice a low whisper and her big blue eyes wide.

She felt a flash of triumph – _ my strategy is working, he wants to get to know me, and including me in his group on the train proves it _– but instead she tried to make her face look confused. 

"Oh, I'm sure they were just curious about me, there is not much to tell. As for him carrying me, I just fell asleep on the train."

As the words left her mouth, she heard his deep voice close to her ear: "There is a lot to tell about you, Miss Granger. After all, you seem like quite a special girl." He stood right behind her, so close that she could almost feel an electric charge sizzling between them, even though they weren't touching.

She saw something close to awe on the faces of the two girls when they gazed at him, and both of them blushed a little. But her hair was standing on end, and she felt a surge of envy for the two girls. _ Why was her life so much more complicated? _They were so innocent, not knowing that they fancied a dark, mass-murdering wizard. And they didn't have to worry about befriending him and eventually killing him either.

Feeling drained and empty of a sudden, she told them: "I'm very tired, so I'll just take my leave and go to the dorm now. See you in the morning, and I'm looking forward to getting to know you." 

She gave them a quick smile, and left for the stairs, weaving briskly between the groups of people gathered in the room, a ready excuse on her lips as people tried to drag her into conversation. As she reached the stairs, her stress level sank and she could breathe freely again, slowing her steps as the pressure from keeping her façade lifted.

"Wait, Miss Granger! You don't know which dorm room you're in yet," he said.

A bit shocked, she asked: "How come you can enter the girl's dormitories, and how do you know which dorm I belong to?"

"There are only three dorm rooms for the seventh year girls, and only one of them had a spare bed. And a hex like the one stopping boys from enter the girls’ dormitories was only a temporary challenge for me, I broke it in my third year. By the way, that's your dorm," he pointed to an emerald green door three steps above where she was standing.

Blinking a little, she thought: _ In his third year? What, why did he want to get into the girl's dormitories at that age? Did he start his career seducing girls at thirteen_?

Shaking her head she said quickly: "Good night, Riddle. Thanks for your kindness today," hurrying into her room before he could make a further move on her. Closing the door, she realized that he had full access to every single part of the school. There was no way to escape him completely, there would be no safe zones. _ Whatever she did, she mustn't leave any traces, signs or objects that may make him suspicious of anything, anywhere. Her mind must remain warded at all times, even in her sleep. _

Minutes later, Mariette and Joanna bounded into the dorm.

"Did he kiss you?" Joanna asked, breathlessly.

"What, no! He just showed me the dorm."

Joanna sighed. "He can be such a gentleman. Carrying you, taking care of you all evening and introducing you to all of Slytherin, showing you the dorm…"

"And he's so good looking that it's almost silly, even more so than last year," Mariette concluded.

"Ah, well, yes, I suppose… But really, is he that nice?" Hermione had to ask, because the two of them seemed almost starstruck.

"Why, yes," Mariette said. "He always helps people with homework or if they have any troubles, and the teachers love him. He is nice, and very, very intelligent and smart. There's a very good reason for him being this year's Head Boy. He's just a model student, and everyone likes him. Though, he's also…" she stopped, shared a quick glance with Joanna.

"…what Mariette is trying to say is that he doesn't keep up his relationships for long. All the girls in school love him, of course, but I think his longest affair has been two weeks or so," Joanna continued. "So maybe you should take care, or at least, you shouldn't be too disappointed if it doesn't last long."

"There's nothing between us!" Hermione barked. "I don't want him, and I don't think he wants me either!"

Mariette snickered. "I'm not so sure about that. We'll see!"

"I don't think anyone has ever refused him. It'll be so funny to watch if you do. I can't even begin to imagine how he'd react!" Joanna said, a wicked light shining in her eyes. "Please, please turn him down, Hermione, I'd love to see what happens! Imagine him begging for your affection!"

Hermione shuddered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, we're back at Hogwarts, ready for the seventh year with Tom Marvolo Riddle! 
> 
> * I made Muriel Weasley 35 years younger than she really is in canon, and I made her maiden name Weasley as well. I hope you'll forgive me, but I do need a cool, snarky female Weasley in the story.


	5. An Ordinary Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He licked his lips, slowly and deliberately obscene, obviously delighted by the proof of her arousal. She fled the niche, and he called after her: "Until next time, Granger!"

Getting their time tables at the first breakfast in the Great Hall, she saw that her first lesson would be the dreaded Householding. "Um, Mariette? What do you actually do in this class?" she asked.

"Learning cooking and cleaning spells, spells for mending clothes and sewing, home decoration and flower arrangements, tending babies, and sometimes we do charms for hair, makeup and skin," Mariette rattled off, as she spooned marmalade over her toast. 

Hermione was speechless.  _ Missing Arithmancy for THIS _ ? 

Realizing that her consternation was visible on her face, she pulled herself together and squeezed out a strangled "Why?"

"I'm sorry?" Mariette said.

"I mean, why do we have to learn these things?" she clarified.

"Oh, it's useful for later. Not all of us have House-elves to our beck and call, and we need to be able to take care of our families."

"Don't you have Householding in the future?" Joanna asked her. 

"No. We learn other useful things instead. It's not like witches have to stay at home, we can do other things too," she said, bitterness evident in her tone.

Joanna and Mariette looked at each other. "Interesting," Joanna said slowly. "I'm not too keen on spending my life on keeping house either. I would have loved to be an Astronomer, if I could choose for myself. Maybe you have been sent back to change things?"

Hermione looked at her with surprise, and then she smiled, feeling her anger take shape and molt into a mission.  _ Maybe she couldn't save the House elves of the forties, but she could liberate witches! Yes, not only would she rid the world of Voldemort, she'd give the wizarding world a push in the right direction _ !

Leaning in to Mariette and Joanna, she declared: "Girls shouldn't be forced to do Householding as a mandatory course. I'm going to make the Ministry change the curriculum."

Xxxx

Hermione had never been popular at school, quite the opposite. These days, everyone wanted to talk to her, beckoning her to join them. She supposed it was the novelty of her being from the future, but still she enjoyed the attention.

"Why don't you join us playing Exploding Snap, Granger? We've got some lovely chocolate from Honeydukes, too," a crowd of haughty Slytherins entreated her. She smiled, politely declining in favor of her Transfiguration essay. 

In the library, groups of Ravenclaws accosted her, asking for advice on studying and telling her how they admired her school work. 

Out in the grounds, a couple of Hufflepuffs came up to her wanting to discuss different plants and greenery, complimenting her skills in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. Though, she noted: Gryffindors kept away from her, and very few boys apart from Riddle's Slytherin friends initiated talking to her.

Xxxx

In class, she felt confident and pleased to see that she was still in the top, even though there were differences from the nineties.  _ Well, she was on top, except for him _ . They were tying for first in all their classes, and she seethed when he bested her. And when she beat him, she exulted, making his eyes flash with irritation.  _ The competition was definitely on.  _

She realized that she'd never be a match for Riddle at Potions, as his brews always were more potent, smelled better, had a better taste or even just a stronger sheen.

"How do you do it?" she asked him, frustrated after their third lesson. "My potions are literally textbook, but your potions turn out better!"

He just smiled at her, and answered politely:

"I like potions, and I enjoy experimenting and improving - it inspires me." Then he added with a dark glint in his eyes: "Besides, always following the rules doesn't work out for me. It's a constraint on creativity and innovation, and I want to go beyond what the textbooks can teach me." 

She rolled her eyes _ . Of course, he’d see it like that.  _

Giving her a slow and seductive smile that made her cheeks redden, he said: "You should try it, Granger. I'd love to show you how to experiment."

She pulled back, feeling a little short of breath. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll stick to the textbook for now." She didn't want to meet his gaze, but his low chuckle travelled over her skin like a caress.

Turning away, grumbling to herself, she finished up her Invigoration Draught. Her mood brightened as Slughorn heaped praise on them both. "Hogwarts have never seen the like of the two of you!" he beamed at them. Whispering excitedly, he continued: "I'm quite sure the House cup will be ours this year too, and by an even greater difference in points than usual! The other houses will not stand a chance."

XXXX

Slowly, she fell into a routine, and life in the forties became almost ordinary. In the evenings, she joined Joanna and Mariette either in the library or in the dungeon. To her relief, she rarely saw Riddle outside classes and meal times, because he seemed to be very busy at the beginning of the term due to Head Boy duties.  _ He was probably holding little Death Eater get-togethers or cuddling his basilisk in his spare time _ , she snorted to herself, feeling more relaxed when he wasn't around. 

Luckily, Dolohov was also rarely seen, and she took great care to sit several seats away from him at meals, though he often joined the seventh year boys clustering around Riddle.  _ With the brutality she had witnessed from him in the future, she rather thought he, even as a sixth year, would be perfect for Riddle’s little gang of delinquents.  _

She also found that chatting in the dungeon was an excellent opportunity to find out more about Riddle’s actions and the way he ruled the Slytherins.

"Everyone loves Tom," the sixth year Monella Jenkins told her earnestly. She was obviously excited to have a conversation with the new girl from the future, and Hermione wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. After all, she was just using the girl to get information.  _ How Slytherin of me _ , she thought a little bitterly.

"He's always helpful," Monella continued.

"Right," Hermione said, barely refraining from rolling her eyes. Lowering her voice, she said: "But I've heard he has had any number of affairs."

Monella blushed deeply with apparent discomfort. "Well, but that's not his fault, you know. It's just that those girls don't live up to his expectations. He's very polite and gentlemanly about it. As I said: Everyone loves Tom."

Understanding that Monella most certainly was one of ‘those girls’, Hermione didn't press any further on the matter. Instead, she said: "Have you ever had any odd occurrences or strange happenings at school? We had several in my time, and I guess that's only normal for a school of magic."

Brightening up at the prospect of talking about something else, Monella said: "Oh, sure. There's always someone ending up in the Infirmary, and sometimes it's quite inexplicable as to why. The teachers actually say that there have been more cases of accidents and injuries over the past few years than usual. And two years ago, there was a girl who died. It was horrible! In the same year, someone captured a centaur, killing it on top of the Astronomy tower. There was a circle of runes around it, so it was clearly a dark ritual. They never found out who did it, and the Ministry got involved, and …"

Hermione nodded as the girl continued. This proved that he operated in secrecy, but he still hurt people. And creatures.  _ She had to stop him _ .

Xxxx

Sometimes she was surprised by the fact that she rarely thought about the future and her friends.  _ I'm still in shock _ , she told herself,  _ and besides, both Ginny and I were convinced that we were the only ones left. The best I can do is to focus on changing the past _ . But the future seemed so very far away, like she was cut loose from her life, both in time and emotionally.

Mariette and Joanna were friendly and nice, and she found that she actually liked them and enjoyed their company. Both of them were Pure-bloods, but none of them seemed to think it was a big deal. There was no love lost between them and Walburga Black, and consequently, the Black heiress kept mostly to herself in the dorm. Besides, Mariette and Joanna supported her ideas of the "witches’ rights movement", and Walburga most certainly did not.

"Are you trying to change wizarding society and the proper order of things?" Walburga sneered at her in the dorm, as Hermione sat down at the desk to compose a letter to the Ministry's Educational Office.

"Yes," Hermione answered curtly as she pulled out her parchment and choosing her best quill. "It's unfair. Witches can be just as clever as wizards, and we should be allowed to choose between Householding and all other subjects."

"Really. You do realize that someone must take responsibility for the manor? This is important, and it's absolutely not inferior to a paid job. House-elves do need someone to be in charge, and they have an appalling sense of decoration. A firm hand is needed, and that's one of the things Householding will teach you – if you'd care to listen."

"Not everyone has manors," Joanna interrupted, irritation flashing in her eyes. "Actually, most people do  _ not _ have manors. And many families could really do with two incomes. You're so narrow-minded, living in your own little bubble of power, wealth and high society, Walburga!"

Walburga shoot her a condescending look, and retorted as she turned to leave: "Oh, look who's talking, Joanna. It's not like the Parkinson family are excepted from the ‘bubble of power’! As I recall, your family is second only to the Malfoys in wizarding wealth."

Joanna blushed, glaring after Walburgas back.

Mariette told her: "She does have a point, you know. You are filthy rich."

"So what? Is it illegal to have a social conscience because I'm rich?" Joanna snarled, striding out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Oh well," Mariette sighed. "She is very wealthy, you know, even if she pretends otherwise. Her clothes and jewelry aren't flashy, but the cost amount to a small fortune. Have you noticed the beaded necklace she's so fond of wearing? It dates from the year 1153. You could buy Hogsmeade with it."

Hermione made a wordless sound of agreement, and for a while the only thing that could be heard was her quill scratching on the parchment.

Mariette stretched out on her bed, crumpling the green silk sheets. After a while she shifted a little, frowning: "It's unfair, though, that some witches won't be allowed to work. Like Joanna." Her blue eyes flashed with irritation.

"Allowed, what do you mean by that?" Hermione mused, looking up from her letter.

"Well, if a married witch wants to work, her husband has to give her permission. No husband would allow his wife to work, if it weren’t for them needing the money," Mariette explained, “and in Joanna’s case, money would never be an issue in the household.” 

"That's just, it's just pure evil!" Hermione sputtered. "Witches have been on the Wizengamot for centuries, and there are a lot of powerful witches in our history! Why would they need permission to work?!"

"Well, you see," Mariette said a little wistfully, "most witches on the Wizengamot are there because of blood status, with those few, notable exceptions. For example, Walburga and Joanna will be on the Wizengamot because of their blood status, no matter what they do with their life. I won't, if I don't do something spectacular like making magical discoveries or become famous for some reason. But the married witches that sits on the Wizengamot because of their blood, usually vote in agreement with their husbands. That makes it different. Besides, the Wizengamot is an honor, not a telltale sign that the husband can't support his wife financially."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione continued to compose her first letter to the Ministry's Educational office.  _ The first one of many _ , she thought.

XXXX

Though Riddle usually was busy in the evenings, she couldn't complain about a lack of opportunities to get to know him better. She had all her classes with him, as they shared the same NEWT courses. He usually sat down with her at breakfast, doing his best to charm her, throwing in a few smiles at her two friends too, to their great delight. 

"Is there anything I can get you for your breakfast, Miss Granger? You just say the word, and I'll make it happen." His smile was dazzling, and she felt a lump in her stomach.  _ It was unfair. He was much too handsome. Sociopathic murderers shouldn't be allowed to look this good _ . 

Instead, she said, her smile a little more teasing than she would admit to: 

"Why don't you get me … yak milk for my tea, please?"

Lifting his perfect, straight eyebrows, he Conjured a glass, filling it with a white liquid, and presented it to her. She sniffed at the glass, making a face that made Cygnus Black choke on his toast so hard that Sebastian Lestrange had to punch him in the back, while the rest of the Slytherin boys looked at her with fascination. 

"Eew, it really doesn't smell that good. Are you sure this is yak milk?"

His face broke into a mischievous grin. "I'm quite sure… that this  _ isn't  _ yak milk. It's something else – it'll be good for you!" He levitated the glass, butting it against her lips, and as she turned her head away trying to fend off the glass, it followed her lips insistently until she pretended to take a small sip.  _ Like she would ever drink something Lord Voldemort had Conjured, whatever this liquid was…!  _

It became a breakfast routine for a week or two: She'd ask for something stupid or impossible, and he would try to feed her something else - which she’d never, ever drink or eat, only pretending to taste. 

Hermione had to admit to herself that this was close to  _ flirting _ , but she deemed it a necessity in getting closer to him. His Head Boy façade was firmly in place, and there were no visible signs of darkness: He was very much the perfect, charming, intelligent and helpful Head Boy. 

But she knew, the vile snake that he was, would be hiding somewhere inside. It would just be a matter of time before he showed what he was really like.

Xxxx

He usually positioned himself next to her in class. "Keeping my fiercest competitor close," he told her, giving her an appraising nod. "After all, who knows what tricks from the future you could pull?"

His friends always spread out on the seats next to them. As Edmund Rosier and Sebastian Lestrange made three timid Ravenclaws move out of their seats right behind her to make room for themselves and Abraxas Malfoy, she thought:  _ They're like a Slytherin bodyguard, keeping the Heir safe _ . 

Consequently, she almost never spoke to Ravenclaws, Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs in class, keeping mostly to the Slytherins, behind the barrier of people he had set for her. 

At Defence Against the Dark Arts he excelled, but she was giving him a run for the money for as long as professor Merryweather kept to written tasks.

"Today," Merryweather announced in their fourth lesson, "we're going to practice dueling. The boys will find a partner amongst them, and the girls will watch."

She was simply speechless.  _ So girls didn't even duel _ ? Unable to stop herself, her arm shot up.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" professor Merryweather said.

"Aren't the girls allowed to duel? I think it is paramount that we learn to protect ourselves from dark spells!," she said, vehement outrage making her voice quiver.

Merryweather laughed, and said: "But of course, Miss Granger! You'll duel each other after the boys. Now watch, maybe it will teach you something useful!"

Only barely refraining herself from rolling her eyes, she sat down to watch the boys.  _ Maybe this will teach me his weaknesses, it might become useful in killing him!  _

_ But Merlin, he was good _ . None of the other boys stood a chance, as he was both quicker and stronger, using any number of wandless and wordless spells with an agility she didn't expect. His wand seemed like a part of his body, and his wand movements was pure, flowing grace. 

Gritting her teeth, Hermione realized:  _ I literally have to kill him in his sleep, or else he'll take me down as easily as swatting a fly. _

She nailed it, though, when the girls dueled, and got fifteen points to Slytherin by winning every single duel. Even the Gryffindors nodded approvingly at her, Muriel Weasley even gave her a thumbs up and a big smile.

Afterwards, Riddle joined her on the way to the next class, saying: "You were really good. In all probability, you would have taken down all the boys too."

"Yeah," she replied bitterly, "all except you." 

He smiled, and told her with a slightly arrogant toss of his black hair: "I haven't lost a duel ever. By all means, you're welcome to try! But tell me, did you duel a lot earlier? You have a quite distinct fighting style, like you've seen the real thing, not just practice."

"Um, well, there was a lot of fighting…," she stopped, narrowing her eyes at him. "You just tried to make me tell you about the future again, didn't you? You're so sneaky!"

He just laughed, and gave her a too confident wink. It was clear that he didn't think anyone could best him.  _ Arrogant bastard _ , she thought. He might enjoy the fresh competition – but actually, he relished winning. She just had to step up her game.

Xxxx

"There are so many types of wards!" Edmund Rosier said with a frustrated sigh, banging his head on the textbook for Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

They were sitting in the library doing homework, and the rain poured down, making a splattering noise on the tall windows. The skies were roiling with dark, heavy clouds, winds chasing the clouds at high speed. Hermione rather liked it, at least when she could be safe inside the library.  _ At least, as safe as she could be when she was doing her homework with Lord Voldemort. _

"Yes," Joanna said. "Wards for houses, for protecting people physically and mentally, for moving, stealing, seeing or sensing objects, not to mention beasts and animals, and there's got to be at least thirty different for each category. How can they expect us to learn all this?"

Riddle only quirked the corners of his mouth, but Hermione was all in on the discussion.

"That's because the spells do different things. If you want to protect your house from burglars, there's no point in setting a ward that lets everyone enter and leave, but renders them mad as hats, is there?"

"Oh, I rather think that could be a good idea," Edmund mused, winking at her. "Is there such a ward?”

“Of course,” she and Riddle said at the same time. They shared a glance, and he gave her a small, appraising smile, before he replied:

"Well, if it's a good idea or not would depend on the mindset of the owner, don't you think? It's considered a rather dark ward.” Turning to Hermione, he said: "It's interesting that you're aware of it. Most wards are harmless, like the one protecting the girl's dormitories."

"Yes, that one," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "How come Hogwarts warded the girl's dormitories, but the boys are left to ward their own possessions?"

"That's to keep the boys out of our dorms, silly!" Joanna said.

"Sure, but the boys would still want to ward their stuff, don't they? I expect you've got any number of wards on your personal belongings, right?" she replied, looking at Riddle.

"I might have," he said noncommittally, but Edmund Rosier's snicker ruined his effort to appear casual.

"You can't even begin to imagine," Rosier laughed. "We've all had accidents by unwittingly touching his belongings. I swear, he even jinxes his underwear!"

Hermione lifted her eyebrows in amusement and Joanna giggled, but Riddle gave Rosier a death glare that stopped his merriment short.

"What kind of secrets do you have, Riddle, when you need to ward your underwear?" Joanna said, batting her eyelashes at him.

"I just don't like people touching my belongings," he mumbled, clearly irritated.

Hermione could understand Lord Voldemort's need to keep people away from his personal belongings, but information about his wards would be crucial in finding his Horcruxes.

"Tell us," she said, leaning in to him with a teasing smile, "what kind of wards do you have? Is it the dark and dangerous kind, or is it the funny kind where people get green hair or bad breath?"

He looked at her, and suddenly she felt his hand on her thigh under the table, stroking lightly right at the hem of her skirt. "I could always tell you, but the knowledge comes with a price," he said with arched eyebrows.

"Indeed," she said, trying to pull her leg away quietly. "And what would that be?"

"Oh," he replied, holding her leg still, while moving his hand beneath her skirt, stroking upwards. Goosebumps broke out on her thigh as he added: "I'm sure we'll reach an agreement." Giving her a naughty grin, she could see how he enjoyed himself, and she became angry.

Narrowing her eyes at him, she smacked his hand away audibly. Both of their friends jumped in their chairs by the unexpected sound. Edmund Rosier tried to hide a grin, while Joanna seemed to be torn between shock and envy. 

"I don't think so," Hermione said haughtily, "as I'm not for sale." Rising from her chair, she stuffed her books, parchment and quill in her bag and stalked away to the sound of his laughter.

Stopping outside in the hall, leaning against the wall, she thought about his wards. There was apparently a lot of them, and they were most certainly of the nastier kind.  _ But how could she get to examine them? She couldn't – wouldn't – just waltz into his dorm to do a spellcheck on his belongings. That would definitely send him the wrong message. But someone else might do it… Maybe she should brew Polyjuice to get inside safely? Yes _ , she thought decisively.  _ I will set up a cauldron at the Room of Requirement and start the brewing process. Riddle can't get into my version of the Room without my permission. It’ll be safe.  _

Xxxx

Transfiguration with Dumbledore was always fun. Hermione had thought McGonagall a great teacher, but Dumbledore proved to be even better. The lectures were to the point, the discussions were razor sharp, and the tasks challenging. Today, the class struggled to Transfigure themselves into a magical creature of their own choice, the task being much easier than transforming into a real animagus. 

Hermione the Hippogriff preened her feathers, watching the rest of the class in various states of unfulfilled shapes. She was all Hippogriff, almost, but somewhere in the back of her head Hermione the Human observed both herself and the surroundings. A vampire came up to her, bowing deeply. She sniffed him. A cold, dark smell emanated from the vampire, and she decided not to bow. As her stare grew in strength, the vampire backed away. She thought about following him to attack –  _ dark creatures shouldn't be allowed  _ – but Hermione the Human advised against it.

The nice-smelling man with auburn hair and kind eyes clapped his hands. The sound hurt her finely attuned hearing, but she kept still according to the wishes of Hermione the Human, not screeching like she wanted to.

"Now try to Transfigure yourself back," he shouted. Hermione the Human took control, said something that Hermione the Hippogriff didn't quite understand, and she disappeared after a rushing sound.

Hermione gasped, reeling on her two feet when there should be four, but she quickly adjusted. 

Taking a look around in the classroom, she saw that professor Dumbledore would be quite busy. The only students back to normal were herself, and of course Riddle. She narrowed her eyes, not seeing the vampire anywhere else.  _ Of course, that would have been him. The nerve of him, trying to pet her when she was a Hippogriff _ !

Dumbledore sighed, calling her and Riddle to him.

"Twenty points to Slytherin for excellent Transfiguration work. Would the two of you please help me clean up the rest of your class? I don't think anyone will appreciate lunch with creatures that are half Garden gnomes and Kneazles, Nifflers with human feet and half a dozen pixies the size of teenagers. Not to mention the miniature Goblin struggling to climb my chair."

After the lesson, Dumbledore asked her to stay behind for a moment. As the students left the classroom, he asked her with a concerned look in his eyes:

"How are you, Miss Granger? I just wanted to know if you've made progress on your mission."

"Not very much," she admitted. "It may take some time, because there are two artifacts that I need to find and destroy. I think they might be at Hogwarts or nearby, but I'm not sure yet."

"Oh, don't tell me any details," he answered hurriedly, "but let me know if there's anything I can do to help you."

"Thanks, I appreciate that," she said, giving him a big smile. "Meanwhile, I enjoy being at Hogwarts."

"I'm sure you do," he said, eyes twinkling. "We've heard about your campaign against Householding class. If you should find the time and opportunity to do a signature campaign, I'm quite sure that some of the teachers would be happy to support the campaign."

"You will?" Hermione said happily.

"Yes, but don't expect teachers to take any more actions. That would be inappropriate," he told her with a benevolent smile. "Still, you've might have more support on your movement than you think."

Hermione literally skipped out of the classroom and on to her next class. Entering the Potions classroom in the dungeon, she saw Muriel Weasley and a couple of Gryffindors sitting in front, at Walburga Black and her friends' usual seats.

"Move over," Walburga said imperiously, her côterie standing behind her. "These are our seats. You'll be at the back as usual."

"I like this place better," Muriel said curtly. "You go and sit at the back." Her friends grinned a little maliciously at Walburga.

"Do you forget who I am? You filthy little blood traitor, you don't get to tell me what to do," Walburga hissed.

Muriel lifted her eyebrows, and studied her nails before she gave Walburga a sharp look. "In case you haven't noticed, you are dethroned. There's a new princess in Slytherin, and you're just … old news. Or should I say, cast away debris. Used up." The Gryffindors sniggered.

Walburga became pale, before red spots of color shot up in her cheeks. She turned on the spot, and gave Hermione a glare on her way out, whispering "You!" in a low, threatening tone.

"What?" Hermione called after her. "How come this is my fault?" Walburga slammed the door after her.

Muriel Weasley gave her a lazy smile, and said: "Oh, I guess it's your fault, as you're the new Slytherin princess."

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione inquired.

"Just that you're bright, smart and that you've captured the heart of the Slytherin King, darling. And Walburga is not at all comfortable by losing her secure place in the world. We just decided to prove her dethronement to her today," Muriel drawled, cocking her head at her with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Hermione shot her a horrified glance, and shook her head, walking past Muriel to take her seat.

Xxxx

After a while, she noticed a pattern. In public Riddle was polite, flirty and playful, but during those rare times when she found herself alone with him, his approach to her was more aggressive. It was almost like he wanted to keep the fact that he was going after her a secret. Hermione guessed it wasn't consistent with his polite Head Boy façade.

One day, while walking to Transfiguration class, he suddenly pulled her behind the moth-eaten tapestry of the three-part fight between Herpo the Foul, the Troll of Norwood and Mariam Black. To her surprise, the tapestry hid a small niche with a window slit and a loveseat.

"Granger," he whispered, looking her deep in the eyes. "You are such an intriguing girl."

She looked down, feeling a little uncomfortable, as the back of her knees was pressed into the loveseat, forcing her to lean forward towards him not to lose her balance.

He reached out his hand, touching her cheek, letting his hand lightly trail along her jawline. Gripping her chin, he turned her head upwards. His lips were slightly parted, ready for kissing, and as she met his eyes, she swallowed visibly.  _ Oh, the desire in his eyes.  _ It made heat pool in her lower abdomen, and her breath picked up _ . He absolutely shouldn't make her feel like this _ !

Stumbling back, she fell down on the loveseat. He quickly sat down beside her, putting his arms around her. Freezing for a moment, she gasped as his lips grazed her earlobe.

"No!" She pulled herself free, standing up with her heart thundering and heaving breath. His eyes went to her chest, and blushing, she realized that her nipples were stiff and visible through the fabric of the robe.  _ Damn the forties and the wizarding world for not having made bras standard equipment for underwear! _

He licked his lips, slowly and deliberately obscene, obviously delighted by the proof of her arousal. She fled the niche, and he called after her: "Until next time, Granger!"

Xxxx

Sitting quietly in History of Magic, having a very much alive but still exceedingly boring professor Binns droning on about the Treaty of 1549 with the Irish Wizardmoot on trading magical objects, she suddenly was attacked – again. 

She almost couldn't breathe, as Riddle forced entry into her mind, and she just knew he saw flashes of some school memories before she managed to slam down her barriers again and push him out of her head.  _ Thank Merlin, it was only a few glimpses of normal occurrences, as she had been reliving some enjoyable memories of talking to Harry and Ron when he struck _ . 

Glaring, she turned to him. He just smiled at her and shrugged.  _ The arrogant bastard, only shrugging when he tried to mind rape me again, like it is nothing out of the ordinary _ ! She turned away from him, scowling.

Later that evening, he asked her innocently if she had time to do Arithmancy with him.

"I would love to, but not if you're going to attack me again," she said, still feeling angry.

He laughed, and said: "I promise not to attack you while we do homework. Professor Smilden gave us an interesting task today, and I think you would enjoy it. Will you join me?"

She grumbled, but gave him a smile – a totally insincere one.  _ As if she had forgiven him already?!  _

He turned out to be quite the teacher, explaining the lesson to her, and the resulting discussion made her forget who he really was for a time. Blinking, she suddenly realized that they had been talking, debating and arguing for almost two hours, and that she had enjoyed the high-level discussion immensely.

"I lost track of time…," she said faintly, mostly to herself, before continuing: "I really need to finish up my Potions essay before I go to bed." She added a little hesitantly: "You could be a very good teacher, if you wanted to."

He gave her a pleased smile, and for once the smile fully permeated his eyes, transforming his face into radiance, almost taking her breath away. "I want to teach. Most students wouldn't be half as smart as you are, though. I liked this, and I'd be pleased to continue studying with you, and not only Arithmancy."

And for the first time, she felt like he wasn't just coming on to her, instead he was enjoying their mutual academic prowess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, I changed the breakfast flirt, making it much(!) more creepy than in the original on FFnet. Sorry, just couldn’t resist it, haha! 
> 
> Can Hermione live without a mission to liberate someone, like the House-elves? I don't think so! And the forties would seem extremely sexist to someone from our time…
> 
> On FFnet, I got a question as to why the wizarding world would be so backwards as to not use brassieres. I actually googled this when writing it, and found a source saying that in the forties, British women owned an average of one or two. Imagine having one bra... gah!


	6. A Mind Can be a Cold Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What he showed her wasn't anything like that coldness she felt inside his mind.   
\- It was herself, as they met at Flourish and Blotts. And she was beautiful, so very intriguing. - 
> 
> Blinking, she escaped back to her own self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Towards the end of this chapter the reason for rating the story as Explicit will start to show. Heed the tags!

Riddle was still behaving like a model student, and she _ almost _ wished he'd show his dark side. It was almost difficult to remember what he really was like – he was just _ that _ convincing. _ But then again, it was probably easy to seem amiable when everyone loved you and jumped to do your bidding_, she thought bitterly, stirring her bubbling Polyjuice Potion with precision in the Room of Requirement. 

Thankfully, his interest in her seemed to have shifted, with her brain taking precedence over her body, though he was still too flirtatious for her liking. Even so, she found it hard to not let his good looks affect her, especially when those dark eyes seemed to linger on her. 

After their Arithmancy session, he attacked her mind in almost every class, and he would still try to get her to answer questions about the future. During an especially trying Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, he told her in a whisper: "You're getting better at Occlumency. Today I couldn't even get a glimpse of what you're thinking. Yesterday I saw you tampering with a Protean Charm on some coins. I'd hoped to see more of that, it seemed interesting. Maybe you'll tell me what you did instead?" His smile made her stomach do an odd, little flip-flop.

She snorted. "I'm getting better thanks to all the practice you're giving me. I have never had cause for so much practicing before. If you keep this up, I'm going to be the best Occlumens in the world.” 

"Occlumency?" Professor Merrythought suddenly intruded, looking at both of them. "Are you saying that you're an Occlumens, Hermione?"

"Ah, well, yes," she said, feeling uncomfortable, not looking at her teacher's stern face. Galatea Merrythought was a spry, elderly witch, with sharp, brown eyes, usually with a ready sense of humour, though that wasn't visible at the moment.

"And if I understood correctly, then you are a Legilimens, Tom, and the two of you are using my class for practicing your skills, not following my lesson."

Riddle looked down, and said slowly: "I'm sorry, Professor. It was just a game."

"An interesting one, at that,” Merrythought said gravely. “Instead of taking points from you for not paying attention in class, I'll give you a task. With both a Legilimens and an Occlumens in class, we do have a great opportunity to teach the other students about this rather obscure branch of magic. The two of you are going to devise a lesson for the rest of the class, teaching them rudimentary techniques for defending their minds. You have one week to prepare yourselves. This is, of course, on top of your usual homework." Merrythought still looked stern, but her eyes twinkled a little, showing that she wasn't as angry as she pretended to be.

Hermione groaned inwardly. This meant spending a lot of time with him over the next week. Keeping up her façade _ and _her mind shields at all times would be exhausting.

Xxxx

"Poor Tom, he's so busy being Head Boy. And now you've gone and landed him into extra homework. That's so selfish of you!" Walburga told her in the evening, her beautiful, green eyes squinting maliciously at Hermione.

"How's that selfish?" she flipped back, as she was futilely trying to comb out her curls before the night. "I got extra homework too."

"You are quite transparent, you know. Everyone can see that you're trying to get his attention, and you did this to force him to spend time with you," Walburga said, a cruel expression in her eyes. _ Her _locks were silky straight, her brush moving through her long, black hair effortlessly.

Hermione sighed. "I have absolutely no interest in him like that, Walburga." Giving her an amused glance, she continued: "So by all means, don't let me hinder you. Feel free to ask him out or _ whatever _ it is you want to do with him." _ I'm turning into a mean Slytherin girl,_ she thought to herself, as Mariette gasped by her words.

Walburga just sneered at her, but her eyes betrayed her insecurity.

"Besides," Joanna said with a wry smile, trying to appease the Black Heiress, "don't forget about your fiancée, Walburga. Though I have to say he's a bit immature at the moment."

Huffing, the dark-haired girl replied: "He is, isn't he? Yesterday Orion tried to hex my dress into riding up over my bum in the corridor. He ended up being rather sorry, though."

"What did you do?" Mariette asked with a curious expression, putting her night dress over her head, letting it settle around her legs before she jumped into bed.

"I told Orion he was rude, and cursed him with _ Impolitio_," Walburga said with a wicked, little smile. "It lasted all day, and he got four detentions with different teachers for being rude and obnoxious in class. That should teach him to act his age. After all, he is fourteen years old, not eleven. I just hope most of his pimples goes away before the wedding." She shuddered, making a small grimace. 

At that, Hermione for the first time felt a little sorry for Walburga, recalling having seen a small, skinny and rather mean boy by the name Orion Black.

Xxxx

Planning the Legilimens - Occlumens lesson proved to be difficult. They sat in the library, trying to work out how they would teach their fellow students.

"It must be a practical lesson," he insisted. "They won't understand what it's really like if you just explain the theory."

"But you can't just invade everyone's mind!" she protested. "It's not right!"

"Correct," he said. "I can't do that, it takes too much time. You need to do it too."

"That's not what I meant! And I don't know how either. I'm not a Legilimens!" she sputtered.

"I think you could do it. I can show you. The easiest way is like this: you let me into your mind, and I'll lead you into mine – you will just follow the connection."

She stared at him, squinting her eyes with skepticism evident on her face. "Right. I just let YOU into MY mind."

"Oh, come on! It's not that dangerous. You just restrict what I will see. Show me one memory that doesn't tell me anything at all about my future. It's not like I'm going to give you free rein into my mind either," he said, irritation lacing his voice. "Do you want to perform well in this lesson, or not?"

"Ok," she sighed reluctantly. He was probably right, she had learned Occlumency by practicing with Kingsley from the Order during their brief stay at the Burrow, just after the end of her sixth year. Contrary to Harry, she had mastered it like a pro. Kingsley had told her she was a natural. _ But what kind of memory would she show Tom Riddle? What would be inconspicuous and harmless enough? Oh yes, now she knew! _

Smiling sweetly at him, she said: "I'm ready. I have one memory to show you."

Closing down all other memories, she opened her mind to him. The feel of him entering her mind was … _ different _… this time. Smoother and not painful, his presence tickling at the corners of the closed-off parts of her mind. She supposed it was because she had admitted him, instead of him forcing entry.

His brow furrowed, and he looked a little angry. "Is that your boyfriend? What kind of event is this?"

"It's the Yule ball, we had the Triwizard Tournament in my fourth year," she said smugly.

"And who is he?"

"That's Viktor Krum. He was the champion from Durmstrang, and my date to the Tournament ball. You could say he was my boyfriend for a time. He was also a world-famous Quidditch player," she added out of spite.

He just grunted, looking even more irritated. Then he composed himself, and said sarcastically: "I'm sure you had a great time. If you're done dreaming of your _ Quidditch boyfriend_, try to follow my presence in your mind as I leave."

_ It was odd_. She felt as if he stretched out an un-corporeal hand, grabbing hold of her soul. Latching herself onto his presence, she travelled out of herself and into an unfamiliar terrain. 

This place felt bitter cold, but still burning hot with fires smoldering in the distance. Somehow, the landscape of his mind made her think of an arctic volcano: _ Volatile, dangerous and deadly_. Slowly, bubbles of lava grew, oozing from the ground, until one popped, sending her into a memory. 

What he showed her wasn't anything like that coldness she felt inside his mind. _ It was herself, as they met at Flourish and Blotts. And she was beautiful, so very intriguing. _ Blinking, she escaped back to her own self.

She couldn't meet his eyes. _ Was this the way he saw her? Or was it just pretense, something he wanted her to believe, to manipulate her more easily_? 

Instead, she asked: "When you enter my mind, what kind of place is it? I got an impression of yours, and – I wonder, is that something everyone gives off, or is it unique to a person?"

He laughed. "I think everyone has an unique signature. Yours is, not surprisingly, like a library: Full of books on shelves, all neatly organized. But I'm curious, what kind of impression did you get from me?"

"An arctic volcano," she said. "Cold, flammable, and dangerous."

Interestingly enough, he just nodded, not seeming surprised at all. "Now try to enter my mind again, this time without help."

Xxxx

_ Householding spells_. She just couldn't be bothered to engage herself in the stupid subject, and for the first time Hermione Granger was told that she might fail a class.

"You need to take this seriously," Professor Mathilda Barness told her, a middle-aged, motherly-looking witch. "I know that you are a very devout student and that you excel in other classes. There is absolutely no reason why you shouldn't master Householding spells."

She felt like rolling her eyes, but answered politely: "I'm sorry, but I can't really see myself as a housekeeper or homemaker."

Her teacher tsked at her: "Hermione, you are a pretty girl, and you will probably be married in a year or so. Your husband will expect you to take care of his home. After all, it's your duty as a wife and witch to keep your husband happy. Don't you want to deserve his love, affection and the amount of money he will spend on you, your home and eventually on your children? He might even give you an allowance to spend on yourself, and that surely deserves your devotion to his home!"

She felt like her eyes were popping out of her head, and she felt so angry and totally at loss for words. _ Did Barness really say that?! _

Obviously, Professor Barness misunderstood her silence completely, as she turned to the class, saying: "The lesson for today will cover charms that many of you have asked about. We are going to do a detour from the ordinary house work to an equally interesting subject: How to make yourself pretty for your husband. Remember, you must be clean, well-dressed and attractive at all times to keep your husband from wandering. Because _ that_, girls, is something that you never would want to experience, and it must be avoided at all costs… Miss Granger, did you say something?"

Hermione had let out a loud, decidedly un-feminine snort. All her fury and frustration with the insane notions of how women should behave in the forties had gotten to a boiling point. With glaring eyes and a voice that shook with anger she said: "This isn't right! Witches can be just as smart, clever and powerful as wizards. Why would we be happy to clean cobwebs and repairing clothes while the men do exciting, challenging stuff! There's nothing wrong with making oneself pretty, but to do it to get a so-called allowance? I think a more common word for that is _ prostitution_!"

"Miss Granger! Twenty points from Slytherin! Your language is absolutely abhorrent, and you insult good, faithful wives! Go see the head of your House immediately." Professor Barness stood before her with a heaving chest and blazing eyes, pointing at the door.

Hermione stood up, looking at the rest of her class, her arms almost trembling as she crammed her things into her bag. She noticed that several looked shocked and angry, but more than a few looked at her with interest, curiosity and a little admiration. The Gryffindor Muriel Weasley was one of them, she noted.

In his office, Slughorn gave her a mischievous smile. "Just show Barness what a clever witch you are, and try to participate in class. I realize that you aren't interested, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't do your best, Miss Granger."

"Please, Professor Slughorn," she begged. "Would it be possible to ask for a dispensation for me? I would love to do Arithmancy instead."

He shook his head, saying: "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it's not possible. This is a mandatory subject for girls. You know, even though you probably grew up with House-elves doing all the chores in your family home, these things are a necessity for many families. Have you thought about what you'd do if your future husband doesn't have... ah… family connections of the kind that brings House-elves, money and a proper mansion into your union?" He winked at her, smiling slyly.

Feeling flustered, she stammered: "I don't follow you, Professor. What do you mean by that?"

"Well," he said delicately, "I do have eyes, you know. To clarify: Your friend has, unfortunately, no family at all and very little money to begin with, and the two of you still need to get your housekeeping done. You will need to help him with that, Miss Granger."

Goggling at him, she tried to grasp his meaning – _ seriously, does he think _…? "No, no," she blurted out, "you are completely wrong, there's nothing like that!"

Wagging his finger at her, he overheard her protest and ushered her out of his office as he said: "If that's what you want to believe, dear. But I rather think you might change your mind."

Xxxx

Passing through the hall, she heard someone whisper. She thought they might be sixth year Ravenclaws, but the two girls were apparently talking about her and Riddle. "And they sat in the library, just _ ogling _ one another, not doing anything for almost two hours!"

She almost choked out a bitter laugh. Their session of planning the Legilimency – Occlumency planning had obviously been noticed, but this was downright absurd. _ Did people really think they were that engrossed in each other? It was ridiculous _ , _ just as silly as Professor Slughorn’s insinuations. _

As the whispers continued, she felt slightly better: "She's smart and rather tough, though. Did you know she dressed down professor Barness? She's writing letters to the Ministry as well to make Householding an elect course instead of mandatory. I hope she succeeds!"

Xxxx

On the first Hogsmeade weekend, she complained about Slughorn's misunderstanding to Mariette and Joanna, but found no comfort in them. They were sitting in the Three Broomsticks, enjoying their Butterbeers after finishing their shopping. The bar was teeming with students, and they had crammed themselves around a small table in the back.

"I wish I had seen your face," Joanna gasped, tears in her eyes from laughing. "It must have been priceless!"

Mariette were giggling too. "I can understand why Slughorn told you that, because as we've told you, he does seem interested." Still smiling, her tone became more serious. "Though, I must say I'm a little disappointed. I thought he'd come on to you stronger than what he does for the moment. He spends a lot more time with you than with the rest of the girls, but I can't really say he's chasing after you. All you do together is homework."

"I, for one, am relieved," Hermione said decisively. "He's probably far too busy being Head Boy to have time for a girlfriend. And I'll have you know once and for all: I am not interested in him like that!"

"Oh, _ he _doesn't believe that, you know," Edmund Rosier drawled, suddenly standing by their table with a grinning Sebastian Lestrange by his side, Firewhiskys in their hands. Hermione squeaked, jumping in shock.

"Tom knows that all the girls in school adores him," Edmund continued. "You don't seem to be that easily charmed, but I wouldn't bet on him thinking that you're immune to him. He might even enjoy the challenge!"

Sebastian grinned even wider, saying: "And he's quite interested in his future, you know."

"I know," Hermione snorted in irritation. "That's what I keep telling them," she pointed at Mariette and Joanna. "He keeps talking to me because he is hoping I'll make some slip-up about what goes on in the future. There's nothing more."

Edmund and Sebastian shared a look, before sitting down, squeezing themselves in between the girls. Sebastian said: "I don't mean to be rude, Miss Granger. But have you also considered that he might find you attractive? You are quite beautiful, you know."

She was speechless, and colour flamed in her cheeks.

Mariette nodded, saying: "Hermione, that's the truth. You might not realize it yourself, but Sebastian is right."

"Oh, shut up!" Hermione said, draining her Butterbeer in a big gulp, not looking at them. "I'm going to buy myself another. When I get back to the table, I hope the four of you have found something else to gossip about."

At the counter she met him. Giving him an annoyed glance, she queued up. He lifted his eyebrows questioningly, looking down at her. "Did I do something?" he said with a confused look on his face, the light from the bar spilling over his beautiful features, all sharp angles and velvety skin.

"No," she said curtly. _ Nothing except making my friends gossip about me_.

“What can I get for you? I would like to make up to you, whatever you think I have done." Riddle seemed so earnest, and she could _ almost _ believe him, _ believe that he was just a nice guy _.

"I'll get my own drinks," she said curtly as the bartender moved in their direction, but he ordered two Butterbeers before she had the chance to say anything. Glaring at him, she gritted out a none too polite "thanks," before heading back to their friends, not checking to see if he followed her. Of course he did, making the group at the table grin wickedly at her. They lumped themselves together, forcing her to make room for Riddle on the tiny bench she was sitting on. She moved her shopping bags to clear the space, and lost her Honeydukes bag on the floor.

"Let me get that for you," he said, kneeling on the floor and gathering boxes of candy and chocolate, proffering it up at her.

"Thanks," she said again, swallowing a vague feeling of unease, like there was something very wrong with the image of him kneeling in front of her. Perhaps the unease was caused by the sniggering of Lestrange and Rosier, and the way their eyebrows waggled. 

"I'd love to get a bite, though," he smiled at her. Leaning over her as he rose, he whispered close to her ear: "I'll tell you a secret. I love chocolate."

"What?" she exclaimed, feeling astonished. _ Lord Voldemort loves chocolate? I never… _ Then she felt foolish, because really: _ It was chocolate. It wasn't that surprising _.

"So, is the chocolate as good in the future?" he asked with an impish smile.

"I'll reveal a secret to _ you_," she drawled, giving him a bar of chocolate. "Honeydukes do exist in the future. In that respect, you can look forward to the years to come."

"Thanks," he said, eagerly unwrapping the chocolate bar with a hungry look, closing his eyes as he took a big bite. And suddenly, she saw him as the orphan boy, growing up in Muggle London during the Great Depression. Chocolate was probably a rare treat, if they could get it at all in his childhood. She felt brief flash of sympathy and compassion for him, before her rational mind overruled the feeling.

Xxxx

Sitting in the library with a group of Slytherins, she gave up on her Householding homework after squirming around on her chair for fifteen minutes, not writing a full sentence.

"I can't do this," she declared darkly. "I have more important things to do than writing an essay of three feet on different spells to make sauces for fish. This is absurd!"

Mariette sighed, a resigned expression on her face. "You know I totally agree with you, but come on. At least it's not difficult. Barness only asks for you to list the spells and explain the wand movements. She doesn't require us to discuss how and why."

Abraxas Malfoy gave them a sarcastic smile. "Some of us are trying to study important things like Arithmancy. Why don't the two of you sit quiet and do your domestic homework like good girls? You know, your future husbands might enjoy a variety of sauces for his dinners, and a wife who doesn't complain about homemaking at that. Maybe it's time for the two of you to realize your fate as a woman is to get married, keep the house and nurture babies?" He leaned back, expectantly, obviously both wanting and waiting for the explosion to happen.

And true to her nature, Hermione felt her temper flare to life. But before she managed to open her mouth, Muriel Weasley from Gryffindor turned around from the bookshelf she had been perusing behind them. "So you want a homemaker, Abraxas? I thought you had House-elves enough to cater to half of Hogwarts at Malfoy Manor. Do you seriously think a woman's place is only in the kitchen?" She put her hands on her hips, glaring at Malfoy.

He reddened, not saying a word, only gaped at Muriel, something akin to panic in his eyes. She narrowed her eyes, and told him: "I knew you were stupid due to inbreeding, Malfoy. But I truly believed that your mother had taught you better than that. After all, she's known as a quite formidable witch." 

Shaking her head, she turned to Hermione. "I've heard what you're doing with the letters to the Ministry. Keep up the good work, there are a lot of witches who are ready to do something with their life." Giving Malfoy a scathing glance, she left, her long red hair swishing around her hips.

For a short while, everyone kept still. Then both Sebastian Lestrange and Edmund Rosier laughed out loud, punching Malfoy in the back. "Oh, the look on your face! This is priceless. How come you always manage to make Weasley furious?"

Hermione and Mariette shared a smile, gloating in Malfoys’ discomfort. 

Xxxx

Late one evening she sat in the library with Riddle. The rest of the Slytherins were long gone to the dungeon for relaxation and fun, but the two of them were still working on a difficult essay for Charms. Even though she was deep into her reading, she couldn't help noticing how the light seemed to play on his cheekbones, highlighting his lips and his dark lashes, but leaving his eyes in shadows.

"I can't find any references on this," he suddenly growled, slamming his books down on the table.

"Me neither," she sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I guess professor Gemerryn just wants to test our reasoning. Or else…," she paused, "the answer is in the restricted section."

"Why would it be?" he scoffed. "There is no reason the explanation of why we can't Summon a person should be anything close to dark magic. Gemerryn just set this out of spite, knowing that everyone would write some rubbish they made up themselves."

"Maybe it is," Hermione said slowly. "We do know that ‘_ Accio’ _only works on inanimate objects. You can't summon an animal or a human. I think it might have to do with properties of the soul."

"The soul?" he said, his interest clearly picked.

"Yes. Humans have souls, and animals too, while things doesn't. I think the Summoning Charm is keyed to soullessness, and that means the construction of the spell is slightly dark. Consequently, if there was such a thing as a soulless person, you could be able to Summon him or her." She looked up, boring her eyes into his face. _ Curiosity killed the cat, Hermione _ , she thought. _ Now let's see how he reacts. Maybe he'll let something slip? _

For a moment, he seemed uncomfortable, but his curiosity won out. "You might be right," he conceded. "Then this task would be to discuss the metaphysical construction of the spoken spell and wandwork, plus properties of soullessness. Quite difficult. Good thinking, Granger!"

She felt _ sick _by the fact that his approval meant something to her, making something warm curl and stretch inside her chest, but she continued: "I guess there won't be that many soulless people around. It would be difficult to test. As far as I know, you can't completely remove your soul, though you can diminish it."

He narrowed his eyes, suddenly seeming taller and more dangerous to her, and she was acutely aware of the fact that they were alone in the library. "What do you know of such things?" His deep voice had a silky quality that spelled darkness.

"Not much," she said, pulling on all her Gryffindor bravery in meeting his eyes like nothing was out of the ordinary. "But I do know that if you kill someone, you mutilate your soul. And," she paused, not quite knowing if she dared to say it, her voice falling to a whisper, "I've heard that one can split one's soul."

Riddle stared at her, stony-faced. "That wouldn't lead to the person becoming completely soulless," he said harshly, "and it most certainly wouldn't mean that you'd be able to Summon such a person. If it applied to soul mutilation, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be able to Summon common murderers."

"I agree, it would be too easy," Hermione said, fighting a wild urge to laugh. _ Oh, if Harry could just have cast "Accio Voldemort", how much easier it would've been to make the Ministry believe us when they still had time to stop him_! Forcing down her slightly hysterical merriment, she said: "But it would be interesting to know if one must be absolutely soulless, or if a severely mutilated or split soul is enough for the Summoning Charm to work." 

Smiling at him, not quite keeping malice out of her eyes, she continued: "But as I said, we won't be able to test it, unfortunately, as we have no such person available. But there might be something on this in the restricted section."

Worry flashed briefly on his face, before he shook his head, saying: "I don't know if that's worth the time or the effort. This is very obscure magic. Maybe we should just stick to discussing the spell's relation to soullessness without digging into soul splitting."

Hermione was pleased to no end. _ Tom Riddle were now slightly concerned about someone, anyone, trying to Summon him and succeeding_. She didn't believe it would work by far, but his worry made her day. But then again, she was worried for herself. _ How badly had she mutilated her own soul, killing Ginny and the Death Eaters_? She had three deaths, at least, on her conscience. And she still felt oddly detached from the emotions tied to her earlier life, almost like her past in the future was so far away.

Xxxx

The Defense against the Dark Arts class on Occlumency was a success. Several students showed some promise in Occlumency, and Sebastian Lestrange managed to shut her out altogether, while Walburga Black kept Riddle at bay for quite some time. Professor Merrythought was very pleased, and praised both her and Riddle for their teaching abilities.

But her good mood was spoiled in her last class of the day. Handing out the marked fish-sauce essays, her Householding professor Barness told her: "If you don't make an effort in mastering the spells and taking the class seriously, and that with immediate effect, we will pull you from some of your other N.E.W.T. courses. Failing Householding for a girl is not an option, Miss Granger, and I've already arranged this with Headmaster Dippet. It's your choice: You have two weeks to show me that you can do better than this. There is no reason for you being abysmal at this, and mastering everything else, Miss Granger."

She seethed inwardly, but really – she just couldn't give up any of her other classes. She felt like she made a prizewinning act by saying meekly: "Yes, professor, I will make an effort. I'm sorry for my past behavior. Please let me continue with my other studies." _ As if Barness really was a professor! She just couldn't see how on earth the woman could be a professor just because she knew how to clean cobwebs with magic_. For the rest of the class she did her best, even though she was furious on the inside.

To cool herself down, after checking on her Polyjuice Potion, she decided to go alone to the Astronomy tower to make her charts for next week's homework. The cold logic of mapping the movements of the stars soothed her, and she enjoyed her solitude immensely. Finishing up, she could see with satisfaction that her charts were perfect and her essay more than the required four feet in length.

Moving down the stairs, she heard people talk in the stairwell. She wasn't really sure why, but she stopped, standing completely still. As the voices came closer, stopping just around the next bend, she cast a Disillusionment on herself, just on a hunch. _ Something told her, she would not want to be seen by whoever it was. _

"Is this spot secluded enough for you?" she heard a man say. _ It was Riddle, she was quite sure _.

"I think so. I guess no one comes here at this time of night, as there are no lessons on Wednesdays." The voice belonged to a girl, and Hermione got the impression that she was a little nervous and insecure.

"Down on your knees, then," he said.

She could hear the sound of a zipper, and then a rustling sound.

"Open your mouth, yes, that's it," he said, before a groan emerged. Without seeing anything, she blushed. _ Really, she shouldn't be listening in to something like this _. But she most certainly didn't want to barge in on what they were doing.

She heard his breathing got heavier, and she couldn't help herself imagining what he would look like, his handsome face in the throes of ecstasy. The thought did something to her, affecting her own breathing, while at the same time she felt something like anger simmering in her stomach. 

_ The nerve of him, coming on to her while doing THIS with other girls_!

Then the girl whimpered a little.

"Faster," he hissed, the girl's whimpers growing in strength, as she could hear an ugly slapping and squelching sound. Hermione snapped out of her thoughts. _ What was going on_?

"Please," the girl whispered in a choked breath, gagging. Hermione got worried: _ Was she listening in on an oral rape? Had the girl consented to this? People were strange, doing all sorts of things, but this both felt and sounded wrong to her. _Before she could decide what to do, she heard a drawn-out groan, and the girl sobbed a little.

"You did well," he panted, as she once again heard the sound of his zipper. "Get up. Get up, did you hear me! Stop whining. Oh well. _ Obliviate _!"

Then she heard footsteps, one of them was moving on down the stairs. She stood stock still, not daring to move, even though something inside her made her want to stomp her feet and yell at her own powerlessness. _ He did this to a girl, and she couldn’t confront him. She had to stay on his good side, getting closer to him _ , _ but this …! _

Swallowing, she had never felt the sacrifice for the Greater Good more acute. No matter how she felt about this, she couldn’t interfere. Her mission was more important, more important than what he had done here tonight. The thought left a sour taste, like she had disappointed herself. 

Clenching her fists, she would have liked to check on the girl, but she didn't know which one had left - him, or the girl? 

Suddenly, he came whistling around the bend, looking very pleased, bounding up the stairs to the Astronomy tower with a spring in his steps.

Hermione exhaled. _ The evil, snakelike murderer from the future was inside him, no doubt about that. And that poor girl_! At least she didn't have to worry about him being overly interested in herself, then, like Slughorn and others had hinted at. She told herself that her anger was only due to him treating the girl badly. _ He was a mean, despicable, vile man_!

Xxxx

In the break the next day, she enjoyed a spot of sunlight with Cygnus Black, Sebastian Lestrange, Mariette and Joanna. "Legilimency feels so odd," Cygnus said. "Having someone in your head is disturbing. And I'm sure Tom burrowed through some of my weaker moments before I could close them off. I guess there are things in every man's head that one should keep to oneself."

Mariette laughed, saying: "Sure. I was embarrassed too. He went through every single time I've gotten a detention in school."

"Detention?" Hermione picked up her ears. "You seem like such a good girl, whenever did you get detentions?"

Joanna barked a laugh, saying: "She is a proper lady now. But you should have seen her two years ago, she hexed everyone. Did you get detention every week, or was it twice a week?"

Mariette blushed. "It wasn't that bad. I just had a rough time, being angry with everyone."

A shadow fell over their heads, and Hermione squinted against the sun. In front of them stood a very tall Gryffindor. _ His name was Darnsby_, she thought. _ Possibly Captain of their Quidditch team? _He was definitely in her Transfiguration class, but she had almost never spoken to him, as she always seemed to have a wall of Slytherins around her in class.

"Hullo, Granger," he said, a little nervously. "Are you going to the Halloween feast with anyone?"

She blinked. _ How time flies. Have I already been here for almost two months_? Taking a look at Darnsby, she noted that he was very good looking. Blond, blue eyes, and a square jaw. Definitely muscular – she thought he might be playing in the beater position.

"No, not yet," she said brightly. "No one has asked."

"So, would you go with me?" he asked.

_ Definitively a brave Gryffindor_, she thought with approval. Asking in front of her friends like that took some courage. _ Maybe it would be a good thing to show both Riddle and the rest of the school that she wasn't pining for him _ ? _ After all, she didn't want him to think she was up for grabs, at least not after what she overheard last night. And Riddle hadn't asked her anyway, no matter what people thought about them. _

"Yes, I would love to," she replied, giving him a wide smile. "What will you be dressing up like – should we match costumes?" 

Around her she heard small gasps of sucked in breaths, and she saw that both Sebastian and Cygnus looked shocked and worried. Sebastian even mouthed to her: "No!"

Joanna and Mariette looked at each other with raised eyebrows, sharing a crooked smile.

"I'd love to hear what you'd think, but shouldn't it be a surprise for your friends too?" Darnsby said. "Why don't we take a walk together?"

Xxxx

Next time she saw Riddle, he looked stormy, cornering her outside the dungeon.

"I thought we were going together to the Halloween feast," he ground out, moving so close to her that she felt as if he was backing her up against the wall. Towering over her, his eyes were even darker than usual, and his fists were clenched. His magic almost condensed the air around them, like a thick layer of clouds and vapours, the power of it weighing her down. She felt suffocated, but pretended not to be affected.

"Did you?" she said mildly. "You didn't ask me. I thought you had other plans." Looking up in his face, she tried to make her expression both confused and friendly. Though it was difficult not to blush: _ In her mind, she kept hearing his groan as he came on the stairs of the Astronomy tower_.

"Why would you go with Darnsby, of all people? Do you have a soft spot for Quidditch players, like that _ Viktor Krum?_ Darnsby hadn't even spoken to you before he asked you!"

She arched her eyebrows. "Do you keep tabs on who I talk to? That's news to me."

His mouth thinned, and he suddenly slammed his fist into the wall beside her, making her jump. Then he turned on the spot and left.

Xxxx

"So what did Riddle say?" Joanna asked, curiosity shining in her eyes. They were in the library, doing their Transfiguration homework.

"He didn't like it. But he didn't ask me, so he can only blame himself," Hermione shrugged.

"You know, I told you I'd love to watch if you refused him. I have to say, I'm really curious what he will do. He's usually so polite and well-mannered, but I'm not so sure that's all there is to him. I can't really decide if he would just frown at you in mild disappointment, or if he would become really angry and jealous."

Hermione gave her half a smile, scribbling the last sentences on her essay. "Oh, he was rather angry. He backed me up into the wall outside the dungeon, and slammed his fist into the wall before he left."

Joanna’s mouth formed a tiny "o" and her eyes became wide. "I'd never thought he'd be violent! That's not how I picture him at all."

"Well, it just shows you were right. He isn't just the nice, lovable Head Boy on the inside. To tell you the truth, I'm a little worried by his reaction. Do you think I'm right to worry? Would he do something bad to Darnsby – has he done anything like that before that you've noticed?" She cocked her head, inquiring with genuine interest.

Joanna just shrugged with a helpless look on her face.

Xxxx

The door to their dormitory slammed open with a loud bang as Walburga stormed in. She was in tears, but clearly furious too. Hermione didn't like her much, but she became concerned as the proud, posh, ‘stiff upper lip’-girl howled in anger and broke a vase on her nightstand by flinging it into the wall. "Is there anything wrong, Walburga? Anything I can help you with?"

Walburga stopped short, and turned around almost crouching, as poised for an attack. "You!" she yelled, "as if you haven't done enough! Coming here, destroying everything with your whorish, modern ways!"

"Now, hold on…," Mariette tried to interrupt, but Walburga walked up to Hermione, shaking in anger. She pointed a finger at her, saying: "Tom has always taken me to the Halloween feast. Now, he refused, saying he had other plans involving you! But everyone knows that YOU are going with Darnsby, that blood traitor! I bet you're spreading your legs for anyone, you filthy slut!"

Walburga stomped into the bathroom and closed the door with considerable force, and loud sobs emanated. Mariette looked at Hermione, and whispered: "She loves him, you know. She really does. This must have been a big shock for her, I'm sure she didn't mean what she said." 

She rose, and went to the bathroom, trying to comfort Walburga with soothing words through the closed door.

But Hermione could only wonder, fear clutching her heart. _What plans did Riddle have for the Halloween feast involving her?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene on the stairs of the Astronomy Tower has been the source for a few comments on FFnet: Would Hermione ever accept something like that? I agree, it isn't something she'd ever condone, but when set against the Greater Good of her mission, I think she's able to set a course to reach her longterm goal. She's following a strategy. 
> 
> You might or might not agree with me on this, but keep in mind: Voldemort/ Tom isn't a nice guy.


	7. The Joys of Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole table laughed, but Hermione shot an uneasy glance towards Riddle's table. And quite correctly, he was staring, looking furious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember: Tom is his own warning. There's a forced situation in this chapter (not rape!).

She waited for Darnsby after their Transfiguration class, just like she had promised him. Walking along the corridor, she saw Riddle scowl at them, and she gave him a friendly wave just to annoy him.

The stone bench in the courtyard felt cold underneath her thighs as they sat down, the October chill creeping underneath her grey, woolen school skirt. Darnsby fidgeted a little, and she gave him a smile to lighten the awkward silence. _ Honestly, he was very sweet and hesitant, for all his bravery in asking her out. A nice shift from Riddle's rather more forceful attention. _

"Is Hogwarts of today very different from your future?" he asked, hesitantly. She almost rolled her eyes at the question – _like people hadn't asked her about this a hundred times already_ _– _but she realized he was only trying to make polite small talk.

"Both yes and no," she told him patiently. "The castle is very much the same, and many of the classes too. But there are differences. For example, there isn't a Householding course, but we do have Muggle studies, which apparently doesn't exist in this time."

"Muggle studies?" he said, bafflement showing on his face. "Why would we study Muggles?"

"Oh, you know, to learn about their culture, beliefs, their behavior and their inventions."

"Seems strange to me, though, but I guess there will be a lot of things that changes over the years. I don't know if you're aware of it, but a lot of Gryffindors are really fascinated about you. But it isn't much inter-house mingling between us and you Slytherins, and it's hard to find an opportunity to talk to you without all of Slytherin listening in. Is that different in the future?"

She had to laugh. "No, unfortunately not. There's still enmity between Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"And here's me hoping that you and I could start something that might change House attitudes," he said, suddenly moving closer to her. He smelled good, she noted, a masculine, pleasant smell. As he was about to pick up her hand, Lestrange, Malfoy and Black showed up in front of them like so many jack-in-the-boxes, striking up a conversation about Quidditch. She sighed, exasperatedly, seeing Riddle standing in the distance, arms folded over his chest and glaring at them.

Xxxx

Her dress for the Halloween feast was black, with a high throat and cut low in the back, leaving her back bare. Her heels were high and her hair pinned up, and a blood red lipstick completed the outfit – with tiny, little vampire teeth that barely showed when she smiled.

In the common room, she met Riddle. He looked very handsome in a black dress robe, but he radiated anger, giving her a hard glance. She noted that he had tiny horns almost hidden in his raven-black hair. _ How very appropriate, _she thought. Giving him a friendly, but completely fake smile in passing, she could feel his hot stare burn a hole in her skin as she left the dungeon.

Darnsby complimented her on her outfit, and she had to admit that he looked very good with his vampire teeth matching hers. His blue eyes shone at her with a warmth that made her feel comfortable, and she could feel her own smile grow as she looked at him.

Entering the Great Hall on his arm, she saw that the Halloween party was as wonderful as ever in her future years, and the decorations were mind-boggling. The great pumpkins were in place, live bats fluttered over the star-lit ceiling, and a full moon shone brightly on the dance floor. The House tables had vanished, instead the Great Hall sported several smaller tables for a more intimate setting. The meal was sumptuous, the drinks delicious, and she enjoyed talking to Darnsby – or Benjamin, as he insisted that she'd call him. For a change, there wasn't a single Slytherin at her table, and she loved getting to know his friends at Gryffindor. They were lively, funny and the friendliness felt so much like _ home _ that she felt a tiny catch in her heart. _ Oh Harry, Ginny, Ron, Neville, Dean _ … She stopped the litany of her lost friends short, not to spoil her mood. _ She would have fun tonight_, _ not troubling herself_, she decided.

"Imagine," the stunningly beautiful Muriel Weasley said with a wicked smile, "Benjamin literally _ stealing _the Slytherin Princess from the future out of the arms of the handsome Slytherin King. No wonder his face is screaming murder. You should watch your steps after this, Benjamin." 

The whole table laughed, but Hermione shot an uneasy glance towards Riddle's table. And quite correctly, he was staring, looking furious. Noticing her looking at him, he retracted his eyes, obviously trying to compose his face. She couldn't help it, she felt a little worried – worried for Benjamin's safety, maybe even for her own. But then she noted that Benjamin's laugh sounded a little forced.

"Well," Benjamin said after the laughter had died down. "He actually accosted me in the corridor the other day, demanding that I'd step back and letting him take Hermione to the feast. It was almost like a threat, and he wasn't very polite about it." His smile was slightly nervous, but the other Gryffindors just laughed even more.

"Serves him right, the bastard!" Muriel grinned. "He thinks every girl in school loves him and will fall head over heels if he as much as blinks. I think it is hilarious that the two of you are defying him. It's well done, Hermione, standing up to your own Head Boy like that."

"Well," she answered, "there's not like there is anything between me and Riddle, so I really don't know why he acts like that. I'm sure he found someone else to go with."

Muriel shared an amused glance with the Gryffindor Head Girl Roona Blotts, and they laughed heartily. "I daresay he found someone, it doesn't seem to be all that difficult for him," Muriel said, lifting her eyebrows at two of the other girls at their table. The girls blushed, none of them meeting Muriel's eyes. But one of them cast a quick, irritated glance at Hermione, her mouth thinning slightly before she looked away.

"Of course, you might not be aware of the fact that our precious Slytherin Head Boy has gone through more than his fair share of girls throughout school," Roona Blotts told Hermione in a low whisper. "And by that I mean all Houses, and girls both older and younger than himself. "

"Yes," Muriel interjected, "he has even scored quite a few times in Gryffindor, though it seems like _ some _ would prefer to forget about it."

"Please, Muriel," one of the blushing girls said. "It was two years ago. Can't you just, please, forget about it?"

"Absolutely, if you stop moaning his name in your sleep," Muriel quipped.

The girl choked on her drink, glaring at Muriel and Hermione. "You're just jealous because he never tried to…," she hissed.

"Girls, stop it!" Roona said firmly. "This is rather silly. No one at this table cares one jot about Tom Riddle. Muriel, you shouldn't tease Jolanda and Sarah like that. No wonder they're getting cross with you."

"I'm sorry,” Muriel said contritely. To Hermione's surprise she sounded like it was heartfelt. Muriel got up, walked around the table and hugged the two girls. "You know, I get carried away by my own wit to the point of stupidity," she grinned at them, and just like that, they were friends again. 

_ This would never have happened in Slytherin, _ Hermione thought. _ And does the fact that I'm surprised mean that I'm turning into a Slytherin myself? _

When the dancing started, Benjamin led her out on the floor. Both of them fought a bout of laughter by the sight of Muriel dressing down Abraxas Malfoy - _ again _. Muriel was standing in front of him, her finger poking his chest, and her red curls almost crackled with her irritation. The tall Malfoy heir was looking anxious, pleading almost, but with each poke from Muriel, he took a small step backwards.

"I don't want to dance with you! You are so obnoxious and high on your own blood that I can't stand even touching your arm! Get away from me, or I'll give you a hex that'll go well with Halloween. What?” she almost screeched. “You're still standing there? Bat-Bogeys coming up!"

Malfoy ran off before Muriel could hex him, and Hermione blurted out: "What _ was _ that? Does he fancy her, or what?"

"Definitely," Benjamin laughed. "It's been like that since our third year. Serves him right after he was horrid to her in the first and second year. She hates his guts, but still he has proposed to her three times."

"Oh," Hermione said weakly, thinking about what Ron and Draco Malfoy would say if they knew. After all, Muriel was Ron's great-aunt and Abraxas was Draco’s granddad. _ She just had to get back to the future. She just HAD to tell Ron. And Malfoy – he would die of shame, _ she sniggered to herself. Then her mood sobered: _ That is, if Ron wasn't dead and Draco Malfoy a diligent Death Eater. _

Waltzing around with Benjamin, she decided not to worry about that, at least for this feast. She would enjoy herself. He spun her around, making her dizzy, and she leaned her head back, laughing. After an especially fast song, she stumbled closer to him to keep her balance as the music suddenly stopped. 

It felt like time slowed down, and they looked each other in the eyes for a long time. Benjamin had started an infinitesimal movement of his head in the direction of her mouth, when she felt a cold hand grabbing her arm, tearing her away.

Riddle told her harshly: "I'll have this dance with you," before sweeping her away, his arm strong and unyielding around her waist. Benjamin looked angry, following them, saying: "Hey Riddle, don't you go stealing my date!"

The Head Boy mask over the true monster inside was slipping fast, she could tell, as Riddle sneered: "Stealing, is it? Who stole her first? A word of advice to you, I can't guarantee the consequences if you keep this up. And you know what I mean, Darnsby! You might have brought her to the feast, but she's leaving with me." 

To Hermione's disappointment, Benjamin closed his eyes for a moment, stepped back deferring to Riddle, and he just saluted her before he left.

But this was too much for her. "You know, Riddle," she drawled, "I do have a free will. You can't just order me around like this. I'm not leaving with you, whatever you think. Let go of me!"

He just arched his eyebrows at her with a look of supreme arrogance. As the music started up again, he pulled her into him, letting his hand trail low on her bare back, stroking her slowly, his hand inching towards the small of her back. 

"You look lovely tonight," he whispered into her ear, his breath tickling her. "Being a vampire suits you, it's sexy."

She was still angry, bracing her hands against his arms to shove him away from her, saying furiously: "I don't care what you think. Didn't you hear me: Let go! I don't want to dance with you."

"Such a shame that you haven't got a choice, then." His voice was cold and frosty, but his eyes were fiery, like there was a furnace inside him feeding little, red flames into his eyes. 

She realized that everyone stared at them. And then he shoved his hand underneath her dress, stroking her buttocks, whispering _ Silencio _. Flushing scarlet, she was livid with anger, trying to wriggle and fight her way free, unable to say a word. He held her much too tight, smiling sanguinely at her and the wide-eyed crowd of fellow students. She could make out the shocked faces of Mariette and Joanna, and the very angry face of Muriel Weasley. Benjamin Darnsby were nowhere to be seen. Though everyone seemed to be watching, no one made a move to help her. 

Stiffening, she stopped fighting him, but held herself rigid and with as much distance to him as possible. On the inside, she felt humiliated, shamed, angry and powerless, all at the same time, but the angry, red flush forming on her face was a lost cause. Feeling as she would start crying at any moment, she put up her Occlumency shields to save her dignity. 

After the dance, he thankfully removed his hand from her dress, but he didn't let go of her, dragging her along to a table full of Slytherins. He shoved her down on a chair, and the silence became very awkward. Sebastian Lestrange with his date, Cygnus Black, Moira Diggory, Edmund Rosier and even Walburga Black all tried to pretend nothing had happened, and in fact that neither Riddle nor Hermione existed.

Riddle never took his eyes off her, and she felt his intense scrutiny both embarrassing and infuriating. She pressed her lips together, making her eyes into slits as she stared back, not even trying to say a word for a long time. 

Then he said: "I've lifted the hex now. You can talk, or shout if you'd like." She shot him another glare, before she looked determinedly away from him, her arms crossed over her breasts. He sighed, before he commanded his friends: "Leave us." As they scrambled up, eager to obey, he pulled his chair closer to her. "Don't ever do that again, Granger."

"What?" she said incredulously, not believing her own ears. "_ I _shouldn't do whatever you think I've done? What about you? What you did out there on the dance floor was like a dog pissing to mark territory!"

"Exactly," he said, smiling coldly. "I marked my territory, making sure that _ Darnsby _ and other _ what-nots _ in this school keep away from you. But you, you were about to kiss him. I could tell. You won't do anything like that anymore."

"You don't get to decide who I kiss or not!"

"After this, no one's going to try kissing you either," he said, frosty triumph in his voice. Mumbling to himself, she could almost not hear him as he continued: "Unless they have a death wish."

She sat still for a while, thinking. _ He was probably right. Whether or not they knew him as the lovable Head Boy or Lord Voldemort, people weren't likely to interfere with what he did. But this, what he did to her, must have blown his Head Boy cover to the entire school. No one in their right mind would think him an innocent, nice school boy after seeing him tonight. _

Abruptly she asked him: "And what about your date? Your actions must have shamed her to no end. Did she leave?"

"I didn't bring a date. I was planning to leave with one instead."

She stood up, her eyes glinting with ice daggers. "Did you, now. I'm going, and you can leave with anyone you'd like for all I care. I'm not your date."

He smiled toothily, grabbing hold of her arm as she marched out of the Great Hall, matching his stride to hers. "I'm leaving with you." 

She held her head high, not looking at him, nor anyone else in the Great Hall, struggling to keep her anger inside. _ Keep you own facade, Hermione, _ she advised herself, _ be a good girl from the forties, not the Gryffindor Princess from the future. Don’t try to hex him in public. _

In the dungeon she finally turned around, wrenching her arm free of his grip. "Good night, _ Mr. Riddle _. I hope your dreams will give you exactly what you deserve."

"I always sleep well. And I think I deserve dreaming of you".

She tossed her head, walking up the stairs. As she looked down, he was standing downstairs, staring after her, eyes black and inscrutable. 

Xxxx

Alone in the dorm, she allowed her tears to flow. Hermione wasn't sure if it was anger, shame, fear or despair, or perhaps a mix of it all. She curled up in her bed, not bothering to take her dress off or remove her makeup. As she heard the door creak, she burrowed further into her covers, trying to hide her blotched, tear-streaked face. Footsteps approached her bed, stopping at the bedpost.

"Are you alright?" To her enormous surprise, it was Walburga's voice. And her tone was _ kind _.

"No," she offered morosely back. The mattress shifted as Walburga sat down, and tentatively stroked her hair.

"Tom can be very … determined. And he doesn't stop until he gets what he wants. I would advise you to not resist him, because… You must understand, Hermione, Tom isn't what he seems. He isn't just the charming boy that most people believe him to be. If you resist, in the end he will simply _ take _ you. And after that, well… I may not like you all that much, Hermione, but I wouldn't wish for you to get on his bad side. I wouldn't wish that upon _ anyone. _"

The springs in the mattress creaked a little as Walburga rose, leaving for the bathroom. 

Hermione lay on her side, staring at nothing. _ In the end, he will simply take you_. The thought was too horrible to comprehend.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom isn't playing nicely by the rules – not anymore…


	8. Imperius as a Treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She would stick to her plan to get close to him, even if it meant to debase herself. The Greater Good… It felt like a sour taste at the back of her throat, a roiling heaviness in her stomach, a flash fire in her veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter, and it has a new scene which wasn't in the original at FFnet. There are also lots of smaller changes to this chapter.

"I have a treat for you," Professor Merrythought announced, in the first lesson the day after the Halloween feast. "I have obtained permission for you to practice on throwing off the Imperius curse." The class gasped, almost collectively. "But to do that, you must also learn to cast it to know what you're fighting. Split yourself in pairs, please."

Like a lightning bolt, he was at her side. "We'll practice together."

"Of course we will," she sighed, thinking: _ He's probably been casting this since the age of eleven. _

Xxxx 

Hermione had snuck out of the dorm at dawn, skipping breakfast and hiding in the Room of Requirement until it was time to go to class. She had hovered Disillusioned outside the classroom, as the chattering crowd of student had entered, some yawning due to last night’s festivities, others sharing blushing glances and silly smiles. 

Gritting her teeth, she clenched her wand as _ he _ strolled past her, looking as calm and collected as ever, like it was an everyday occurrence to assault a girl on the dance floor in front of hundreds of people. _ Which, _ she supposed, _ might be correct. He certainly was no stranger to violence and assaults. _

The urge to hex him well and truly grew, as he stopped for a moment right in front of her, a small smile on his lips, as he answered a question from a worried-looking, but very stiff-lipped and distant Mariette. 

“No, I haven’t _ seen _ Granger this morning. If she wasn’t in your dorm, I suppose she woke early to study, don’t you think? She’s been researching Calming Draughts.” Lowering his voice to a stage whisper, he leaned in to Mariette: “I think she needs it.” 

Her friend narrowed her eyes, and said primly: “I suppose, there are issues that might cause stress in a girl’s life. But _ you _wouldn’t know anything about the cause of such things, would you, Riddle?” 

Hermione felt a sudden spike of respect and love for her friend. _ Marielle was standing up for her, taking on Head Boy Tom Riddle for her, though she hadn’t the faintest idea that she had just delivered a snippy answer to the most evil wizards in Britain. _

The tall, black-haired wizard just grinned, showing his perfect white teeth, and said laughingly: “I suppose not, I wouldn’t presume to understand what’s going on in Granger’s mind.” 

Hermione almost hissed in anger, and her wand hand trembled with the effort of _ not _ hexing Tom _ fucking _ Riddle. Breathing deeply through her nose, she tried to calm herself. _ Calming Draughts indeed, that bastard! It wouldn’t be good for her mission if she made an enemy of Tom Riddle by hexing him. Her mission was the most important thing, not her own rage and humiliation, and getting close to him to obtain the Horcruxes took precedence over _ ** _everything_**_. The Greater Good, the Greater Good, _she chanted to herself. 

Only after each and every student had entered, the classroom, did she rip her Glamour to enter the room in the exact moment Merrythought was about to close the door. 

Head down, she had taken a seat in the back, not meeting anyone’s eyes, though whispers broke out in the room. Looking steadfastly down on her books, she felt as if the whole school would be laughing at her - the stupid, slutty witch who let herself be fondled on the dance floor by someone else than her date for the night. 

Xxxx

Merrythought explained the casting of the Imperius Curse and the theory of throwing it off. "Now, you decide which one of you that will start by cursing, and which one that will be defending. After a while, we'll switch."

Riddle nodded to her, looking annoyingly confident and smug, indicating that she could start.

Her palms felt sweaty. _ What a chance, casting the Imperius on him. If she managed to do it, she could save the world so much trouble. _ Readying herself, she flicked her wand saying: " _ Imperio _!"

He just shrugged a little. "Try again?"

And she tried, _ tried _ and ** _tried_ **, but she couldn't make the curse stick to him. He threw it off after a split second, every time. Merrythought came over to them, inspecting her casting. "You are doing it right, and you should be succeeding. I think this is a case of Tom being too resilient to this curse. Try cursing Sebastian instead."

It worked just fine with Lestrange, who hopped around happily on one leg after her curse. Glaring at Riddle, she thought: _ I should have known. It would be too easy to use the Imperius on him. _

"Now switch," Merrythought called out, over the din in the classroom. Students were clucking like mother hens, barking, singing and jumping up and down. Clearly, throwing off the curse proved to be difficult. As she turned to Riddle, he gave her a rather sinister smile, before giving Lestrange an arrogant toss of his head, indicating that the other boy should make himself scarce. 

She tried to recall the Professor’s instructions: _ Fight it, question it, show resistance _ . All the while, she nervously twiddled her Time-Turner. _ It was always hidden under her shirt, like it was a symbol of luck, support or merely comfort – or all three put together. And right now, she felt as if she needed a fair bit of luck. _

"Ready?" he asked softly. She nodded, having a very bad feeling about this. He pointed his pale wand at her, and she automatically flinched, even before he whispered "_ Imperio. _"

Looking at him, she suddenly wondered why she had ever felt angry at him, because he was _ glorious _. 

She went over to him, raised herself to the tips of her toes and slung her arms around his neck. Pulling his head down to her, she kissed him thoroughly. 

The kiss was broken up by Professor Merrythought clearing her throat loudly behind them. She felt him smile against her mouth, and then fog suddenly lifted from her brain.

"What!?" she yelled angrily. "You made me kiss you! That's, that's just not fair!" She wiped her hand over her mouth, feeling like her tongue and teeth were sullied, polluted even, by his touch. _ Kissing Lord Voldemort was … unthinkable. _

Several people in the classroom sniggered, and Professor Merrythought was apparently fighting a smile too.

"Not very gentlemanly, Tom," Merrythought reproached him. "Try to make her do something else instead. Remember, if you make her do something she might want to do anyway, it is much harder to throw off the curse."

Hermione felt like her face was aflame, and the class laughed out loud around them. Riddle apologized at her, smiling wickedly: "I'm sorry Granger, I didn't realize you wanted to kiss me. You can do that without a curse, you know – just ask."

Mortified, she wanted to run away. Instead she stayed, and consequently she spent the next hour neighing like a horse, dancing can-can, singing, crawling on the floor and standing on her head. But in the end, she managed to throw off his curse when he told her to munch on her scarf.

Xxxx

In each and every class, she scarpered before anyone could talk to her between classes, and in the lunch break, she hid in the library, not wanting to face anyone, figuring that everyone else would be hungry. But she had no such luck, as Muriel Weasley dumped down on the chair beside her.

"What happened yesterday?" the red-head asked bluntly.

Hermione met her questioning eyes, and grimaced. "I don't know. It was completely unexpected."

"Really?" Muriel said, arching an eyebrow, scepticism radiating from her expression. "We've all noticed that the two of you spend a lot of time together, and lots of people thought that you were going out. I told Benjamin to be careful before he asked you, but he …" she glanced around her for any unwelcome listeners, "... _ likes _ you. We were all surprised when he told us you would go with him."

"There's nothing between me and Riddle. At least, nothing that I know of. We study together, that's all there is."

"If you believe that, you must be dumb,” Muriel said, rolling her eyes. "If I must remind you: He threatened Benjamin, grabbed you and put his hand down your dress in front of the whole school, and you did nothing. And then the two of you left together."

"It wasn't like that!" Hermione protested. "He Silenced me and forced me to dance with him as he groped me! And then he followed me when I left."

Muriel rose from her chair, slinging her bag on her shoulder. "Ok, so there's nothing between you from your point of view, but it clearly is from his. If you want Benjamin instead of him, you'd better grow a backbone, Hermione. Or else I have to tell Benjamin that he shouldn't waste his time."

As she left, Hermione gaped at her back in fury. _ Grow a backbone? The girl didn't know anything about her at all! She definitely had a backbone. It was just that befriending Tom fucking Riddle was more important than her own feelings, because becoming close to him was the key to killing him and saving her world! _

She shuddered by the thought of giving in to him, thinking about the pitiful, whimpering sobs of that girl in the Astronomy tower. _ It was absolutely out of the question _. But she had to minimize the tension between them, even though one half of her wanted to rip his head off for molesting girls and make herself look like a fool in front of the whole school, and the other half wanted to run screaming in fright. 

The Greater Good was more important than the humiliation and anger she felt. She would stick to her plan to get close to him, even if it meant to debase herself. _ The Greater Good… It felt like a sour taste at the back of her throat, a roiling heaviness in her stomach, a flash fire in her veins. _

Sighing heavily, she knew she’d have to swallow her pride, even though it made her want to gnash her teeth. _ And maybe, just maybe, there was a tiny part of her that didn't hate him as much as she should. _

Xxxx

"Hey," she said, sitting down beside him in the library in the afternoon, her heartbeat at maximum rate and her hands almost shaking. She held her temper on a short leash, but still it was difficult. _ She had to make him believe she wasn't angry. _ It really galled her that _ he _ would believe that _ she _ was trying to placate him, when in reality, she was actually trying to secure his downfall. 

He nodded curtly to her, acknowledging her presence without welcoming her. Hermione pulled out her quill and parchment, opened her Charms textbook, and started writing her essay. After a while, she frowned at the book, and nibbled on the end of her quill.

"Something wrong?" The words almost dragged out of him, and he didn't look at her. His hair fell down in his eyes, and he was scribbling on his own Potion essay with his beautiful, slanting handwriting.

"It's not enough information here to discuss the Potham theory in depth. I can't argue if the theory is right or wrong by using only this chapter as a source, I'll have to find references. And besides, I think the author has it all wrong."

He looked curious, leaning forward, putting down his quill. "I think Potham was an idiot and his theory would never work if anyone was crazy enough to test it, but why do you think it's so?"

As they lost themselves in bashing Pothams theory of how to charm all paths to go downhill, Hermione smiled to herself. _ This was the way to make friends with him: When discussing magical theory, they were on the same level. Then she didn't even have to pretend to like him, because she really, really enjoyed their discussions. _

Xxxx

"Where have you been all day?" Joanna was clearly worried, staring at Hermione with big, dark eyes. "Are you alright? We've been trying to catch you all day, but you’ve been avoiding us, haven’t you?"

"I'm ok," she answered evasively, glancing around in the Great Hall to see if anyone noticed their conversation. Pouring herself pumpkin juice, she was pleased to see that everyone was busy eating their dinner and talking to each other just as usual.

"You didn't look ok yesterday,” Mariette said, giving her a searching look. "Have you talked to him at all today, except for the Defense class? I must say, making you kiss him was really low."

"Yes. You have no idea how much I agree with you on that," she said bitterly. Realizing that her friends deserved more details than this, she sighed. "I was shocked and angry yesterday, and I still don't understand why he did that. It was awful. I have talked to him today, but we didn't bring this up. I just want to forget it ever happened."

"Did he act any differently from normal today?" Joanna asked.

"No. He was as usual. Maybe he's embarrassed, maybe he was drunk last night. I don't know."

"What happened after you left the ball? Did he do anything to you?" Mariette was obviously not willing to let it slide.

"Nothing. I went to bed, and he didn't do anything. Please, I'd rather not talk about it. It was horrible. I expect the whole school is laughing at me," Hermione said, trying to end the conversation.

Joanna and Mariette looked at each other. "No," Joanna said slowly. "It seems like a lot of people think this is very romantic, and that the two of you are back together after a quarrel. So, no one's laughing, Hermione. They just don't realize that you didn't want this."

Xxxx

In Transfiguration the next day, she tried to make eye contact with Benjamin Darnsby. But he stared determinedly in another direction, not meeting her eyes. After class, she decided that she would catch him as they left the classroom, just to talk things through with him. He was such a nice guy, and she would like to set things straight with him, especially after what Muriel Weasley had told her.

But somehow Sebastian Lestrange, Edmund Rosier, Abraxas Malfoy and Cygnus Black managed to lump themselves around her, one of them splitting his bag on the floor right in front of her, the rest of them milling around, hindering her from leaving. When she was able to move through, Benjamin was nowhere to be seen. She narrowed her eyes at Riddle, but he faked an innocent look to her unspoken complaint.

Xxxx

A few days later she heard a familiar voice in the girl's bathroom close to the Transfiguration classroom. Instantly, she knew it was the voice of that girl from the Astronomy tower. Hurrying out of her stall to get a look at her, she stopped by the sink, giving her a furtive glance. The girl was a fifth year from Ravenclaw. What Hermione saw almost gave her a shock: the girl was rather slender and not very tall, she had bushy brown hair and big, brown eyes. Nausea roiled in her tummy, making her cold and clammy all over – in short: the girl looked a bit like Hermione herself. 

"I don't feel so good these days," the girl complained to her friend. "I keep having odd dreams that I can't really remember, and I keep forgetting where I am and why I'm there. You know, two times this week I've found myself at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower, and I don't know why I went there in the first place."

Hermione drew in her breath sharply. Taking a closer look at the girl, she could see that she had purplish bags around her eyes, and she looked drawn and tired. Her heart went out to her. _ Poor girl. Riddle must have continued obliviating her – and using her. And it definitely wasn't entirely by consent, she was sure. He was pressuring the poor girl into sexual favours, using his looks and maybe even his status as Head Boy. _

Gritting her teeth, she knew, there was no way she could interfere and still be on friendly terms. Reporting him would cause a major scandal, and if he weren’t expelled and turned loose on the world, probably disappearing out of her reach, he would certainly see that as a declaration of war. _ Confronting him would also endanger her mission. But maybe she could put a stop to it in some other way… _

"Excuse me," Hermione said politely. "I couldn't help overhearing what you said. Did it occur to you that someone may have Obliviated you? That would explain your memory loss and nightmares. Perhaps you should visit the Infirmary to sort it out."

"Obliviate me? That's a curious notion – why would anyone do that?" The girl looked wide-eyed at Hermione.

"You tell me," Hermione mumbled as she left the bathroom. "It was just a suggestion, but you should check for it. The symptoms would fit very well with Obliviation." 

Somehow, she felt even worse, knowing that the girl he forced into giving him blow jobs looked a lot like herself. _ Would he do this to her too, if he had the opportunity? _

Xxxx

The invitation to the Slug Club came as she was in the dungeon, doing her Transfiguration homework with Mariette. A flurry of owls entered as a surprised first year opened the door to the dungeon, and the owls delivered little cards to around ten of the boys in seventh and sixth grade. 

From around the room, there were exclamations among the boys: "Oh, the Slug Club! Did you get an invitation? Who are you going to ask? It's next Friday! Wonder who's going to be there?"

Lestrange rose from his chair, and came over to them, and several of the boys were making their way over to other girls.

"Mariette, will you be my date at the Slug Club next Friday?"

The tall blond smiled prettily, and nodded in confirmation before saying: "I'd love to. It'll be fun!"

Hermione wondered why there was no invite to herself, and asked hesitantly, pretending not to know: "The Slug Club, what's that?"

Mariette said: "It's a party thrown by professor Slughorn! He invites only the best and the brightest wizards, and each can bring a date for the evening." 

Lestrange smiled proudly at the mention of "the best and the brightest," but Hermione's heart fell. _ Another disappointment from life in the forties_. Apparently even her teachers didn't bother to invite clever female students. _ Slughorn just lost around a hundred points in her esteem. _

The door to the dungeon opened, and Riddle strode in, making a beeline for their table. He stopped in front of her, stating: "You'll be my date on the Slug Club next Friday."

She stared at him, blinking. "Am I really." Her tone was dry.

"Yes. I expect Sebastian hasn't invited you already, even though he plays _ Quidditch_." He gave Lestrange a chilling glance.

"No, no, not at all, I'm taking Mariette," Lestrange said quickly.

"Good. Then everything is alright. I'm looking forward to go with you, Granger." And by that he left the dungeon, leaving whispers and looks in his wake.

"What!" she spluttered to Mariette and Lestrange. "I didn't accept, he just took it for granted that I'd go with him! He's so arrogant! I'm going to find him and tell him I won't go!" She rose in anger to go after him, but Lestrange laid a hand on her arm.

"Don't," he warned her with a grave expression. "Just don't. If he wants you to be his date at the Slug Club, you'll be his date. Trust me. Remember: This time he did ask you, at least sort of."

Xxxx

In the Great Hall at dinner, Abraxas Malfoy marched up to Muriel Weasley. "I have a challenge for you,” he said, seeming oddly excited and nervous.

"Oh, do you. What makes you think I'll deign to compete with someone like _ you _ anyway?" Muriel said with a nonchalant cruelty.

Abraxas flinched a little, but he soldiered on. "Oh, I thought you were of the _ brave _ kind, Weasley. I would never have thought you would step down from a challenge. Are you afraid you might lose?"

Her face flushing, she said angrily: "Go on, I accept your challenge."

"Professor Kettleburn has gotten two Hippogriffs for our next Care of Magical Creatures class. I challenge you to sneak into their paddock tonight with me. The first one who manages to get on the back of a Hippogriff and up in the air, wins."

"Ok, sounds like a real challenge, Malfoy. But what's the catch, I mean the prize?"

"If you win, you can curse me anyway you'd like. I won't report you."

She smiled a little evilly, but said: "And if YOU win, Malfoy, what do you want?"

"You'll go with me to the Slug Club."

Muriel gave him a considering look, but nodded. "Deal," she said, clasping his hand.

Betting immediately started on both House tables. Hermione rather thought Abraxas had a sly look on his face when he turned away from Muriel.

"Wager a bet?” Riddle asked her, his breath hot in her ear. "You'd probably set your money on Weasley, I guess."

"No," she said, while suddenly wondering when he had moved so close to her on the bench. _ Really, she had taken special care to sit down a few seats away from him _. "I think Abraxas has a plan, he looked a bit shifty."

He chuckled, and leaned in to her, his arm brushing her shoulders: "You're right about that. The Hippogriffs are a present to Hogwarts from the Malfoy family. They will know Abraxas, as he's been riding them for years."

"That's quite sneaky." She was a bit impressed with Malfoy’s cunning, guessing that gifting the Hippogriffs to Hogwarts had been his idea. "But why is he so obsessed with a girl who doesn't even like him?"

He shot her a long look that made her redden. "Maybe that's just why," he said curtly.

Xxxx

They were dueling again in Defense Against the Dark Arts. And just like last time, he won the boys' duels and she won the girls'.

"I think it might be instructive if the two of you dueled," Professor Merrythought said pensively. "Are you up to that, Miss Granger?"

Feeling resentment grow – _ Merrythought didn't ask if _ ** _he _ ** _ was up to it, only her _ – Hermione nodded. Right after her nod, she had some serious misgivings. _ He'll break me apart in minutes. I won't stand a chance! No, I won't let him win that easily. _Squaring her shoulders, she looked him in the eyes and said: "I promised you a run for your money first time we met, Riddle."

He cocked his eyebrows at her. "As I recall, I promised to be on top of you. I intend to keep that." His grin was infuriating, and she felt her cheeks colour - again. He seemed to make her blush an awful lot these days.

"You know what to do," Merrythought called out. "Ready?"

He took the dueling stance, making his body a smaller target by turning his body half sideways, and held his wand arm out in a relaxed position.

She, on the other hand, clutched her wand, her arm almost shaking. _ I'm going to duel Lord Voldemort. I'm going to duel Lord Voldemort_, her mind chanted. _ Stop it! This is only a school duel, and the teacher is watching. He can't cast dark curses, he'd be expelled_, she tried to convince herself.

"Wands at the ready, on one, two, three!" Merryweather yelled.

He shot a quick “_Stupefy _” at her, the curse coming from a low position, shooting arrow straight and fast at her. She deflected it easily, and cast a quick series of three curses: Body-binder, Hair-loss and Jelly-Fingers.

Wordlessly, he raised a shield, stepping aside, and pelted her with a series of Stinging Hexes, ending with a strong Confundus. As the hexes crashed into her shield, green and red sparks exploded from it, hitting a Ravenclaw boy in the front. The boy yelled, and ran out of the room, clutching his face.

Thinking of Ginny, Hermione lobbed a strong Bat-Bogey at the back of his head. As he had to step back and extend his shield behind him to avoid it, Hermione whispered "_Impedimenta,_" slowing him down. The students clapped, as Hermione followed with a Knockback Hex at his feet, almost hitting him, green sparks flashing from his shield by the impact.

His composure was failing a little, and he narrowed his eyes, shaking his hair out of his eyes. _ Here it comes_, fled through Hermione's mind. _ He won't be holding back, now_.

Extending his wand arm, he whipped his wand through the air, sending a wordless jet of yellow light at her, causing her shield to crack. She scuttled sideways, yelling “_P__rotego_” to raise another shield, but he kept up the yellow jet stream, destroying her new shield before it was fully formed, while casting “_Wingardium Leviosa_” at the same time. 

Her feet dangled suddenly above ground, but she managed to choke out "_Finite Incantatem_" quickly, feet thudding as she landed. Immediately, she cast a Multi-shot Jinx at him, and he had to duck away, giving her the split second she needed to put up another shield.

Then Riddle changed his tactics, stalking closer to her until they were merely a few steps away from each other, volleys of hexes and curses clashing into their shields, both of them casting continuously, raising a many-hued shower of sparks. Hermione were firing jinxes as fast as she could, but the strain of keeping a strong shield up at the same time were beginning to take its toll. She wouldn't up the fight with more dubious curses, as she was sure that his repertoire of such things would be considerably larger.

Suddenly he struck her with a Knockback that broke through her shield, sending her into the wall behind her, and she yelled "_Oppugno_" back at him, hurtling a chair at him, crashing at the place where he had stood. But it was too late, he had already surged forward, pinning her against the wall and putting his wand to her throat. Eyes gleaming, he whispered "_Expelliarmus,_" and her wand clattered to the floor. Her chest heaved, her pulse thundering in her ears, and he was breathing hard too. 

Standing stock still, as the class cheered, he whispered: "I told you so." The look in his eyes was triumphant, exulting at having defeated her. His stance and his towering height suddenly seemed so very dominant to her, and she felt small and a little afraid, still pinned to the wall by his body. Before he moved away, he whispered very close to her ear: "I think I like seeing you submit to me. It turns me on."

Shocked, she felt a tremor of disgust coursing through her, and she shuddered. _ He was vile. Truly vile. _

"Splendid!" Merrythought exclaimed. "Twenty points to Slytherin each for a fantastic duel! Miss Granger, you did very well. There is no shame in losing to Tom, he's probably better than most of the teachers. You held your own for quite some time, and I'm impressed!"

As he let her go, Hermione staggered forward, suddenly feeling very drained. After all, she had just had eleven duels with the girls before finishing off by battling Lord Voldemort. _ Yes, she'd deserve a Honeydukes chocolate bar. The really big one she had saved for an occasion where she'd need some comfort, _ she thought.

Xxxx

It was the second Quidditch match of the season, and the first where Slytherin would be playing. All people talked about was the upcoming match between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Hermione really didn't care, but realized that while everyone had accepted her studying instead of watching the first match of the year between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, they wouldn't forgive her for missing out on the Slytherin game. At the breakfast table, she stopped paying attention to the chattering, instead wishing she was alone in the library with a book.

"You don't care much about the game for a girl that seems to _ like _ Quidditch players so well," Riddle murmured, his mouth very close to her ear again.

She started, jumping in her seat. "No," she admitted, "I will cheer on the team, of course, but I'm not really into it. It might have to do with me being a horrible flyer myself." She chose not to comment on his assumption that she liked the _ players_.

He chuckled. "Is there finally something you can't do well? I'll believe it when I see you fly."

"You'll laugh. I promise," she said glumly. "What about you, do you enjoy Quidditch?"

"Not enthusiastically. I support Slytherin, of course, and I have been on the team earlier." He looked intently at her as if her reaction would be of special interest.

"You were?" Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "What position did you play?" _ She had never imagined Lord Voldemort playing Quidditch. It seemed too silly, too frivolous for someone like him. _

"Seeker. I was on the team in my second and third year, but it takes too much time. I have more important things to do. We won all the matches, though," he added, sounding pleased with himself.

"So you enjoy flying?" she asked.

"Absolutely, but I really don't see why a broom is necessary. I'm working on that, though."

She shivered, remembering his future self flying through the skies without a broom.

"I'm sure you'll find a solution," she said drily. Just then, a fifth year on their bench was hit by a curse, red sparks emitting a loud bang, and the boy crashed off his seat, arms flailing before he was quiet. _ Too quiet_.

For a moment, the Hall was silent, before everyone was in uproar.

"Attack on one of the Slytherin Beaters! He's down! Unconscious! Foul play!" Everyone was yelling, and the teachers sprinted to the Slytherin table, checking on the boy. Slughorn only shook his head, as Dumbledore and Gemerryn, the Charms Professor, lifted the boy, running out of the Hall.

"Abraxas!" Slughorn shouted, waving his hand, and Malfoy came up to him. "He won't be playing the game. Your job as Captain is to find a replacement real quick."

"The match is in half an hour!" Malfoy said shrilly with a wild look in his eyes. "Can't we postpone it? This was obviously directed at the team!"

"Yes, and we'll find the culprit, don't worry. But the match is on."

Malfoy put his hand to brow, thinking. Hermione could see a faint sheen of sweat on his face, and everyone stared at him. The silence was oppressive at the Slytherin table, most people looked anxious, and some seemed to be hopeful, probably potential replacement Beaters. 

Malfoy squared his shoulders, and looked directly at Riddle.

"Tom," his voice was decisive, though strangely pleading.

"No," Riddle replied.

"Yes, you must."

"I won't play Beater."

"I didn't mean for you to do that either. Sebastian will move to the position of beater, you'll play Seeker."

"Not a good idea. Don't you have a spare Beater? If not, that's bad planning. You should have an extra player on all positions."

"It might be bad planning, never mind. I don't have an extra. Please."

The two stared at each other, and then Riddle finally shrugged. "Ok." Malfoy seemed to sag with relief.

Xxxx

In the stadium, Hermione sat with her friends. Behind them, two fifth year girls squealed: "Oh, I'm so happy Riddle is playing. I bet he's sooo good!" one of them sighed.

"Yes, I bet he's good at _ everything_!" the other girl said. This comment led to a breakout of giggling among the girls.

Joanna lifted her eyebrows with amusement at Hermione and Mariette. "He sure has a fanclub," she noted. "I bet those girls would do anything he asked them to," she added with an impish smile.

Hermione forced down a budding anger at both the girls and Joanna, and clamped her lips tight. _ She was angry because she knew he took advantage of such girls, _ she told herself. _ She was angry on behalf of herself, because he made a fool of her in front of the whole school, while doing Merlin-knows-what with everyone else! _

As the match started, the crowd cheered and whistled. Hermione had to admit to herself, he looked good in the green and silver team robe. The girls behind them squealed loudly every time he flew past their seats, and she felt her irritation with them grow.

"I'll be deaf after this game," Mariette remarked. "There'll be a high-pitched whining noise in my ears forever."

Hermione rolled her eyes in agreement. Darnsby scored for Gryffindor, and she booed with the rest of the Slytherins, feeling like a traitor.

"Riddle is good, though," Joanna said. "And your eyes seem to follow him more than the game, Hermione." Her voice was playful, but with a serious undertone.

"What? I'm not looking at him," Hermione said angrily, but her blush belied her words.

"Of course you aren't,” Joanna replied, sarcasm heavily in her voice, sharing an exasperated look with Mariette.

Hermione didn't deign her a reply, and stared fixedly at Abraxas Malfoy for the next ten minutes. So fixedly that she almost didn't see Riddle catch the Snitch in front of her, ending the match with a score of 180-50 points in favour of Slytherin.

Xxxx

At the afterparty in the dungeon, he was the center of attention. Hermione stared straight ahead, dully, as girl after girl hugged him, pressed themselves at him and kissed him on the cheek. He certainly seemed to enjoy it. _ Those girls didn’t know what a monster he was. Come to think of it, quite a lot of them had certainly experienced being cast off by him, but still they seemed to love him. And all those poor girls, he'd probably pick one for his own amusement for the night. It made her so angry, and a little … hurt, no, humiliated … to think about that. Humiliated, because he feigned going after her, while the whole school would know he kept it going with other girls at the same time. _

Nipping at her illegal Firewhisky that Malfoy had smuggled a whole crate of into school for the celebration, she felt ill at ease, standing in a corner with her friends. She felt absolutely no inclination to join the throng around him, and she absolutely didn't want to draw any attention to herself by hugging him in public. _ Not his attention, nor the attention of the other students. She’d be very happy if she could continue her mission in relative quiet, without any disturbances. _

"I think everyone has congratulated me, except you," Riddle said, his voice suddenly coming from behind her.

"Congrats," she said automatically, but not turning around. She could see their group in a mirror on the far wall, and he was standing close to her. _ Far too close. _

"Also, every single girl in Slytherin hugged me, except you."

At that she almost turned around to him to give him a glare, but instead she said tunelessly: "I guess you'll hug anyone you like, no matter if they want to or not."

"Is there something wrong?" he said.

"No."

"But you're right, tonight I'll hug anyone I want to, and I think I deserve that from you too." And then he pressed his body flush into her back, his arms snaking around her waist, and pressed his cheek against her hair, holding her tight. She froze, keeping herself very still in his arms, seeing any number of people pretending not looking at them.

"You feel good," he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. He lifted up her hair, breathed against her neck, before putting his lips to the spot right below her ear, making her inhale sharply. In the mirror, she could see the two of them. _ His arms entwined around her, his dark hair falling in front of his beautiful face, as his lips worked her throat. Oh, it looked just as sexy as it felt. And it just shouldn't feel this way, he was an evil bastard! _

She shivered again, still holding herself rigid, as he lifted his head and met her eyes in the mirror, giving her a slow seductive smile. Holding his glance for a moment – _ too long, her mind screamed _ – she finally wrestled herself free, walking away without looking back. Her speed increased as she went through the common room, and by the time she had reached the stairs, she was running.

Xxxx

She had snuck out through the Common Room, the party still going strong. Being alone in the dorm with her thoughts had been thoroughly disconcerting, and she simply had to keep herself busy to avoid thinking about him. Her Polyjuice Potion in the Room of Requirement needed tending anyways, so she might as well do that.

Stirring her potion, she realized it would be finished within days. It made her slightly nervous, but then again, it also felt good to be able to take some action on her real mission, not just waiting around. She conjured herself a chair, and settled down to read. Reading usually calmed her down, and tonight, it felt as if lingering in the Room was the right thing to do.

Hours later, she woke with a start. _ Oh, it was late, well past curfew! _Rising, she stretched with a wince, her back positively aching from curling up into the chair, and tiptoed out of the Room. She would have to move quietly through the corridors, making sure not to run into any patrolling teachers or prefects.

It went quite well, until she reached the corridor on the second floor. Hearing footsteps approaching, she hid behind the moth-eaten tapestry showing Morgana and Arthur sleeping on a bed. 

Standing stock still, she didn't move an inch, and then, inexplicably, one of her buttons suddenly fell off her jacket, rolling out into the corridor. The tapestry was snatched aside, and on the other side was none other than Tom Riddle. As he saw her, fury flashed over his face, and he moved to grab her arm. She danced away, keeping him at arm's length.

"What are you doing out here at night?" His voice was calm, belying his anger.

"I … went for a stroll. I couldn't sleep."

"Is that right? You weren't meeting anyone, were you? Someone from Gryffindor, perhaps, who needed _ comfort _?" His eyes burned at her.

"No. I was all by myself. I know it's wrong, I'm sorry."

"Seems a little unlikely. Are you quite sure you haven't been sneaking out to meet _ Darnsby _?"

"Quite sure. Why do you think I would do something like that? Do _ you _ sneak out to meet girls at night?" Gasping, she immediately knew this was the wrong thing to say. _ Antagonizing him was stupid_. 

His eyes narrowed. "Would you care if I did?"

She looked away, not wanting to answer that, even to herself.

He took a step closer to her, reaching out to grip her chin, tilting her face surprisingly gently up towards him. "Would you?” he repeated, his voice an intense whisper.

She held his gaze for a long time, refusing to answer. Involuntarily, she felt her breath quicken, and she swallowed, licking her lips. Taking a quick step back, she broke the connection, _ or whatever it was, _she thought.

He gave a frustrated sigh, and said: "You'll promise me to keep away from Darnsby, and I won't dock points for your little midnight stroll. Is that a deal?"

"I will promise no such thing," she said indignantly. "I will talk to anyone I like, you can't put such constraints on me."

Riddle threw his hands up in exasperation. "Very well. Fifty points from Slytherin, then! You'd better exert yourself in gathering points in class to make up for forcing me to dock points from you. And if I find you wandering around at night again, I'll make sure Slughorn gives you detention until June! Now come along, I'll see you inside the dungeon." He grabbed her arm, and dragged her along.

Xxxx

In the morning, everyone was puzzled about the loss of points, but whispers and rumors spread quickly.

She could hear it, all through the Great Hall.

"And they had a quarrel, and he docked her 50 points! She's is as angry as a wasp, because she's so ambitious."

"That's because he found her with another boy in the corridor at night. Now he's heartbroken, poor Riddle!"

Blanching, she realized that he got more sympathy than her, and, true to his devious nature, he sat with a downcast expression, barely touching his breakfast. She ate her breakfast hurriedly, before walking to Transfiguration.

"Hey!" Muriel Weasley came up beside her. "Did you break up with Riddle? Is that why he took points from you?"

"Not exactly, and besides, there isn't anything to break up. But we quarreled, sort of. He asked me to stay away from Benjamin," she told her.

"And you refused? Good for you!" Muriel patted her back.

"I've tried to talk to Benjamin, but I haven't had a chance yet. He keeps disappearing after Transfiguration the other day, and I can’t get to him."

"Yeah, well. I can slip him a word that you'd like to see him," Muriel said thoughtfully.

"And you? How did your hippogriff ride go?" Hermione asked, a little curious.

Muriel flushed. "I lost. I suspect foul play, though. The hippogriffs seemed to know him."

"Then you'll go with him to the Slug Club?"

"Yes. I did make a deal. I just hope he doesn't blabber on all night about blood purity like he usually does." She sighed, shrugging her shoulders. "What about you, Hermione? Benjamin has been invited, and I don't think he has asked anyone…" she broke off the line of questioning as they entered the classroom.

Hermione was secretly happy that she didn't have to tell Muriel that Riddle had invited her, at least not yet, and not in a classroom full of people. Somehow, she didn't think Muriel would react well to that. As Hermione got to her desk, she realized that Riddle had been walking just behind them. He gave her a furious glare, before sitting down, slamming his books on his desk.

Xxxx

The next day, she could almost feel a storm of emotions running high, cresting like a wave as she entered the Great Hall for breakfast. Cygnus Black took hold of her, eyes blazing, and said: 

"Have you heard? It was Darnsby, and it was because of _ you _!"

"What do you mean?" She was puzzled.

"He told his whole Common Room this morning! Darnsby cursed our Beater, poor Dennington. And he did it to exact revenge on Slytherin because you left him standing there at the Halloween feast!"

She gasped. "No, that can't be true! He's such a nice guy!"

"But he did! You better watch out, Hermione, all of Gryffindor will be going after you. They believe it's your fault!"

"Hang on, what do you mean by ‘my fault’? I wasn't the one cursing Dennington!"

"He did it because he was obviously crazy about you, didn't he? And confessing what he did and his love for you to the whole Common Room with Head Girl Roona Blotts present, she had no choice but to turn him in." He leaned in to her, whispering delightedly with an evil, little wink: "And with Darnsby gone, the Quidditch Cup is as good as ours. Very nicely handled, Granger! You're a true Slytherin."

And the pieces clicked in place in her brain, as she looked at Riddle. _ Merlin, was he responsible? _She felt ill, thinking of poor Benjamin. It was probably an Imperius, and now Darnsby was likely facing expulsion, at least being demoted as Captain. Her feet felt sluggish as she walked to the Slytherin table. 

The Gryffindor table glowered at her – the whole table. She could see Muriel Weasley angrily mouth "You dirty snake!" 

Flinching, she thought: _ Oh no, they really think I set him up, don't they? _

Riddle came over to her, and sat down beside her. "Are you all right?" he said with a rather fake concern.

"I am," she said slowly, looking searchingly at him. _ This was the kind of things he would do, right? Punishing people for perceived slights. But to make someone curse his own House Team to exact revenge seemed a rather far-fetched ploy. _ Testing her theory, she told him: "But I do feel sorry for Benjamin. He's a nice guy."

Suddenly his eyes were burning. "You won't be seeing much to him, as he has been temporary expelled until Christmas." His voice was almost a low hiss in her ear.

Xxxx

At first the Gryffindors only whispered when they saw her. Then a Sixth year tried to hex her in the corridor. Thanks to her reflexes, she turned around, quickly shielding herself. Sending off a hex of her own, she landed herself, not in detention, but in a quarrel _ about _ detention as both Roona Blotts and Tom Riddle saw what happened. The girl that had tried to hex her was now Stunned, crumpled into a heap on the floor.

"You'll be in detention for a week with the Head of your House," Roona Blotts stated coldly to her.

"That's not correct, Blotts. Granger was merely defending herself from one of your Gryffindors. It's the student from your own House that deserves detention," Riddle said equally cold.

"That doesn't mean Granger should be absolved. Stunning a younger student is quite a serious breach of school rules, Riddle."

"If I must remind you, Blotts, students are allowed to defend themselves. Granger was merely doing that. She won't get detention."

"Oh, she will. You are obviously biased in matters concerning Granger. Therefore, I outrank you, and she'll get detention."

Hermione only stared at them, as the debate grew more heated between the Head Boy and the Head Girl. When Roona Blotts started yelling at Riddle, Professor Dumbledore peeked outside his classroom, his round glasses hanging askew on his nose. His expression turned into shock when he discovered that the loud and intense quarrel was between the Head Boy and Head Girl. In the end, the two of them got a night in detention for childish behavior, while Hermione and her Gryffindor attacker could walk scot free from the incident.

Xxxx

_ It was time to try the Polyjuice. _Riddle would be occupied with his detention, and she knew the rest of the boys in his dorm were on the Quidditch pitch. She had thought long and hard on who she would impersonate. His dorm mates were high up on her list, but she couldn't just pinch a hair from their head in passing. After that cat incident in her second year, she wasn't willing to risk a stray hair from their clothes either.

Walburga ended up being her choice. After all, she was friendly with Riddle, and her hair was easy to get hold of from her hairbrush in the dorm. Plopping one of the girl's long, silky hairs into a vial filled with liquid from her bubbling cauldron in the Room of Requirement, she waited expectantly to see what color it ended up. Not surprisingly, Walburga's hair turned the Polyjuice into a Slytherin green. 

Grinning, she said to herself: "Bottoms up, to the unhealth of Tom Riddle," as she downed the drink. It tasted vile, like a lemony soap.

Doubling up by the pain of transformation, she watched herself changing in the mirror that the Room so thoughtfully had acquired for this occasion. She was growing at an alarming rate, her hair sprouting in length and changing into raven black, silky tresses, her eyes becoming slanted and green, and her face rearranging itself into Walburga's beautiful countenance.

Breathing heavily, she tried a sneer. Not quite as haughty as Walburga's, she thought, and tried again, adding in more arrogance in her stare. That would have to do.

Hurrying out of the Room, she ran for the dungeon, hoping that Riddle wouldn't finish his detention early.

She got inside the boys' dormitories without being seen, clutching a stitch in her side, panting. Immediately, she could tell which bed and trunk was his, as the objects literally pulsed with magic. No simple wards here, she thought, a little disappointed, but not surprised. After all, her main goal for this expedition was to check what kind of wards he had, and then research how to break them until she was ready for her next Polyjuice transformation. She had brewed enough for at least four trips.

Setting to work, she checked and analyzed the wards methodically. Some she knew, and a few were unknown to her. None would be easily broken, and she chewed on her lip while thinking. 

Then someone cleared their throat behind her. 

Turning around, she saw him leaning at the doorframe. She jumped a mile high in shock, and blurted out: "What are YOU doing here at this time?"

He raised his eyebrows, walking towards her. "I could ask you the same question, Walburga. You and I have had this conversation before." His eyes were cold as ice, and his voice harsh. "Have you forgotten that you promised to keep away?"

Hermione felt afraid, as his expression was nothing like Head Boy Tom Riddle she had become used to, and all about the cold glare of Lord Voldemort. _ What if he tries to enter my mind? He'll know the difference. And I can't defend myself, he'd notice my casting being stronger than Walburga's. I'm trapped! _

She stuttered: "I'm sorry, I just wanted to…" voice faltering, she feverishly sought for a solution. On a desperate whim, she fell down on her knees, saying: "Please forgive me, my Lord. You know I love you, forgive me for overstepping. I only wanted something of yours to sustain my feelings."

Apparently, it was appropriate both to kneel and address him as Lord, because he didn't look surprised. 

He stood still, musing. "What to do with you, Walburga." Seeing her expression become hopeful, he sneered at her. "Not _ that _, you little minx. We're over the part where I explain to you that I don't want your services anymore. But still, you can't seem to understand your place." 

Cocking his head at her, she saw his eyes narrow for a split second before she felt a surge of power hit her so hard, she barely heard him cast "_ Crucio _!" over the wave of pain shooting through her body. 

She gasped, writhed, screamed, as her insides became molten fire eating away at her soul, her bones splintered into fine shards embedding themselves in her flesh, her skull cracking into ice-covered, sharp pieces freezing and penetrating her brain, tendons popping through her skin. 

And then, then it was suddenly over, and she lay panting and sobbing, curled into a little quivering ball of broken flesh on the floor.

"Clean yourself up and get out of my dorm," he ordered, His voice was neutral and _ normal _, but as her teary eyes met his, she saw that he was clearly on a high. His eyes dark shone, his mouth formed a cruel little smile, and his pale, beautiful face was flushed.

He went over to his trunk, and pulled out a book. Turning to leave, he said: "Oh, and if I catch you in my dorm again, for whatever reason, you can expect a far longer torture than a paltry minute." His mouth quirked as he added: "You look pretty under torture. If there's a next time, I'll let Crabbe and Goyle have a go at you after I lift the spell. It's your choice, make sure you stay away, or suffer the consequences."

For a few minutes after he left, she huddled on the floor, not daring to move. She wasn't really sure if she could move at all, as her muscles were all cramped up. Then she tried to rise, but failed. Hermione crept, half crawled to the doorstep, then hoisted herself up by holding on to the frame with shaking arms and hands. By taking small, faltering steps, she managed to get back to her own dorm. Pulling the covers over her head, she lay still in her bed, waiting to transform back to her own self.

_ Even though she couldn't call this a success, she had still learned something, _ she thought. He didn't have to remove the wards when he opened his trunk. That meant all the wards were keyed to him personally. It would be much too dangerous for Walburga – and herself – to go disguised as the Black Heiress again just in case she was caught again. She would have to transform into another person.

If he had keyed the wards to his physical appearance, rather than his mind, the solution to unlocking the wards would be transforming into _ him _ . The prospect of it was daunting, to say the least, and she shivered as another racking wave of pain tore through her sore muscles. The first problem would be to get hold of a hair from him. And, she noted, more people than his seven chosen ones knew him as Lord Voldemort. _ But how many, and who were they? _But for now, she only wanted to sleep, and forget about pain, humiliation and torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess it's impossible to write Tom/Voldemort without at least one incident of the Cruciatus. Poor Hermione. 
> 
> Also, I hope the chapter itself makes it clear that Hermione refrains from taking revenge on him because of her mission, not because she's weak or doesn't dare. She's making a choice - albeit a hard one - and her priority is to stop him.


	9. No Kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The slow smile that crept over his face was thoroughly disconcerting, and he pressed her body closer to him, far too close, their hips almost grinding against each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the tags...

The Slug Club was approaching, and she had fun dressing up with Mariette in the dorm, while Walburga occupied the bathroom for her preparations. _ At least, she made herself have fun, not thinking about who she'd go with to the event_. Joanna was disappointed to not have a date, but helped them with hair and makeup.

"You know, Edmund Rosier told me he'd invite me if I was two inches taller!" Joanna said as she brushed Hermione's wild hair into obeisance. "But never mind, I'm going to enjoy myself, all alone, in the dorm, with my Potions textbook, and a handful of spinach and a cup of lukewarm tea." Then she sighed theatrically, rolling her eyes, before laughing, brushing off an imaginary speck of dust from Hermione's dress.

Hermione had bought a second black dress on her visit to Diagon Alley at the beginning of the term. It was sleeveless, with a plunging, triangular neckline in the front. The dress was rather long, but she felt like a film star from the forties. Joanna made her hair straighter, but with soft, big curls to go with the look.

"Wait a moment, I'm just going to make you lipstick really stick," Joanna said, taking out her wand, applying a Sticking charm to her lips. "Just in case you'll be kissing someone," she winked.

Hermoine growled: "No kissing! I won't be kissing anyone tonight, you can be sure of that!" She clenched her fists, feeling a sudden surge of fury. _ Her friends should know better than to poke fun of her like this. They knew she wasn’t interested! _Mariette and Joanna just laughed, shaking their heads.

"I _ know _ you say that you're not interested, but he certainly is after that spectacle he made on Halloween," Joanna sniggered. "Just in case, now you're prepared." 

Hermione scowled at her, making her friend laugh even more, dark eyes sparkling mischievously. 

Walburga came out of the bathroom, looking ever so beautiful in a sheer, green gown. Her long, black hair swished around her, and her green eyes glittered darkly.

"You look adorable, Mariette," she said condescendingly. "Pink really suits you. As for you, Granger, you are passable, thanks to Joanna fixing your hair. At the least, you won't be a shame to Slytherin, but of course, no one will notice someone like _ you _ beside Tom anyway."

Hermione flushed. _ How did Walburga always manage to pounce on her insecurities? She knew she wasn't pretty, and really, she had no idea why a drop-dead gorgeous like Tom Riddle showed the slightest interest in her, pretended interest and ulterior motives notwithstanding. He really should be with a girl with looks like, well… Walburga. _

Joanna came to her defense, saying: "That's rather nasty of you, Walburga. Hermione is both beautiful, smart and witty, and that's why Riddle is interested."

Walburga huffed, sweeping past Hermione, as she whispered: "At least you do have some common sense in not resisting him anymore. I hope you have rested well, you might have a long night ahead of you. He does have stamina."

Hermione's blush deepened, and she narrowed her eyes at Walburga, saying: "I might go with him to the Slug Club, but unlike _ others _, I'm not about to spread my legs for a moment of glory."

Walburga stopped, glaring, motioning as if to pull out her wand, but Joanna and Mariette moved in front of Hermione with determination on their faces. Seeing the odds turning into three to one, the black-haired girl left the room with a derisive snort, slamming the door behind her.

"Wow, the two of you are really not on friendly terms!" Joanna exclaimed, shaking her head. 

"Thanks for helping me. But it's a bit strange, though," Hermione mused. "She actually came by and comforted me after the Halloween debacle. I don't understand why she did that, if she hates me so much."

Mariette chuckled, patting Hermione's shoulder. "The answer to why she hates you is simply jealousy, darling. After Halloween, I guess she felt sorry for you. She's been after Riddle for years, after what you aptly described as a moment of glory, and he hasn't always been all that patient with her. Though we can't blame her, her fiancé is a nasty, little piece of work. I guess she wants to enjoy herself while she can. Are you coming, Hermione?"

"Just go along to meet Lestrange, I'll be right after you. Just need to visit the bathroom before I leave," Hermione replied. _ She really needed a moment alone to compose herself. _ The butterflies in her stomach were doing cartwheels, and she sincerely hoped that he would behave normally, not doing anything like what he did to her on Halloween. Apart from that, she would spend the evening on the arm of the man who had tortured her just a few days ago. _ She guessed, that would make anyone nervous. _

Xxxx

As she came down the stairs to the dungeon common room, he literally ate her up with his eyes. _ Her _heart thumped wildly in her chest, her body acutely remembering the way he tortured her.

"You look lovely," he murmured, kissing her hand, his eyes burning into her face. "You look much too beautiful to be allowed in the company of other men, did you know that? I'll have to look after you all evening to ensure no one tries to steal you away. _ Again. _"

She smiled nervously at him, shocked by his outright possessiveness, feeling a blush creep up in her face. Then she froze. 

_ He was wearing the Gaunt ring. _ On his left hand, there it was. Why he wanted to bring his Horcrux out, she had absolutely no idea, but revulsion was thick like bile in her throat. At least, now she knew he kept it with him at school, not hiding it somewhere else. _ It would be behind all those wards in his room. _

Clearing her voice, she remarked: "Nice ring. Is it an heirloom?"

"Yes. A part of my inheritance, actually." He looked at the ring with a small, satisfied smile, but made no further comments on it. Instead he reached out his hand, lifting up the golden chain around her neck, freeing the Time-Turner from her clothes. 

Cocking his head, he said: "I've noticed the chain around your neck earlier, but I never realized the pendant was a Time-Turner. Is that the one you traveled with?" Hermione felt an odd _ tingle _ as he touched it, and she could tell by his small frown that he felt it too.

"Well, yes,” she said, looking down at the small, golden object, now resting in his palm. _ She didn't like him touching it. Actually, she didn't like anyone touching it, keeping the small, golden object hidden between her clothes at all times, feeling a need to be close to it herself. _

Today, it had been barely visible over her low neckline, nestling between her breasts. He gently tucked the Time-Turner inside her dress again, his fingers brushing softly over the swell of her cleavage, but his eyes were hungry as they lingered on her chest. Despite herself, goosebumps broke out on her skin, _and_ _it wasn't all fear_, she had to admit, feeling slightly disgusted with herself.

Taking her arm, he led her out of the dungeon. She was deep in thought as they walked. _ If she wanted to, it was easy to get a hair from him. She could, for example, run her hands through his silky, black hair… No! _ she told herself. _ You'll get a hair from him in some other way that won't lead him on. _

Forcing her thoughts away from Polyjuice, wards, risk of torture and Horcruxes, she tried to think about Slughorn's party. _ If I have to stay longer than June in this time, I will need a job to get by. It's entirely possible that I won't be able to kill him before the end of the school year. Therefore, I need a plan B. I must impress someone influential tonight. It will be so difficult to land a good job in this time, as girls usually don't have any career ambitions. _

When they entered the corridor that led to Slughorn's rooms, he slowed down. Leaning into her, he whispered: "You owe me one from me taking a detention for you, Granger. Will you help me take down the Ministry tonight?"

She stopped dead in her tracks staring at him, heartbeat frantic and her face paling. _ He couldn't do this, he was still in school, why… _ And then she abruptly realized, he couldn't possibly mean this in the literal sense. _ It was only the experience with his future self that misled her. _Forcing a laugh, she flipped: "Who's number one on your hit list?"

Laughing a little, he had obviously noted her reaction: "What did you think I was suggesting? Do I do that in the future, or what? Interesting notion, though. But seriously, anyone with sufficient power is on my hit list, I imagine. These people could be important for my future, and I need connections to achieve what I want. Will you help me?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Just be as clever and as charming as you can, and play along with me. We are going to present ourselves in the best possible light to my future employers, supporters and connections."

She nodded. After all, it was very much like her own plan for the evening. "Ok, but don't forget they might be _ my _future employers too. I want an exciting job!"

He chuckled. "You would at that, wouldn't you."

Her eyebrows rose: "Do you oppose witches working?"

"_ Smart _ people should be getting ahead, Granger. Who could be in Slytherin and not cherish ambition? I'll have you know that stopping witches from working is a Gryffindor thing, to make the _ brave boys _ the saviours of their families," he sneered. "Come on, let's go inside."

On their way in, they brushed by Abraxas Malfoy and Muriel Weasley. Muriel shot glares at them, and her mouth made a disgusted, little twist as she saw Hermione on Riddle's arm. She looked stunning as usual, in a long, elegant light blue dress, red hair in shining, twisted curls down her back. Malfoy smiled a little uncertainly at them, but his eyes were all for Muriel as he followed her inside.

"So," Hermione said, "he won the challenge, and has collected his prize."

"Yes," Riddle said with an amused expression. "He's been so twitchy the past few days, it's virtually unbelievable. He really has it bad for her. I hope he manages to keep a conversation going, not resorting to just stare at her all evening."

Slughorn's party was held in his classroom. The room was magically enlarged and beautifully transformed with glittering fairies, flowers, sofas and small tables, and even a dance floor. Trays with flutes of champagne and tanks of Butterbeer floated in the room, and tables with finger foods were at the back.

"There you are!" boomed Slughorn, smiling cordially at them. "Come over here, and meet Mr. Greenway. He is Curse-Breaker in Chief at Gringotts!"

The Chief Curse-Breaker was a tall, thin man with thinning blonde hair and a large moustache. His dress robe was brilliantly violet, completely overshadowing his features.

Slughorn continued: "My two best students are a beautiful couple, don't you think? Actually, they are the very best Hogwarts has to offer! I'm sure Tom will do well in any position, and I truly recommend him – he has an excellent mind. Hermione is stunning, isn't she? Tom really is quite lucky, as she is a brilliant witch. And you have probably heard that she's a time traveler! I'm looking forward to see what these two will make of their future together."

As Slughorn spoke, Riddle slung his arm casually around her shoulder and gave her a dazzling smile. She stiffened momentarily – _ the nerve of him! _ But then she conceded, he was after all her date for the evening and, unfortunately, the reason why she had the opportunity to be at the Slug Club at all. _ She could play along, somewhat. _

Hermione secretly snickered at his quick flash of surprise when she melted into his arm like she belonged there, and she gave him a wicked smile in return, before turning back to Curse-Breaker Greenway.

He told them about his travels in Egypt along the Nile, breaking into tombs and temples to discover magical artifacts. "We expect the trade will pick up after the Muggles have solved their disagreements, I mean this war of sorts they're having between themselves. Curse-Breaking is both dangerous and exciting work, and you get to learn a lot about ancient, rare magic. That being said, having interests, ahem… outside the regular curriculum is a necessity. This isn't work for the faint of heart."

Riddles' eyes glittered, and he lowered his voice as he answered: "Oh, that sounds promising. I feel that there is so much to learn outside school textbooks. It's a shame we aren't _ tested _ for our knowledge and abilities. There will, of course, be a few students that know their way about _ other _branches of magic, without the report card telling the whole story."

Hermione interrupted: "What does it take to become a Curse-Breaker at Gringotts?"

Greenway looked at her with some surprise, and replied: "Oh, it's much too dangerous for women. One thing is the work itself, but travelling to strange countries alone without a man for protection is out of the question. As a responsible employer, we couldn't risk that."

Her brow furrowing and her eyes turning into slits, she felt Riddle squeezing her arm. Smoothening her face was an effort, but she simply nodded, not trusting herself to speak without being impolite.

Slughorn continued to introduce them to a number of important people from the Ministry, Wizengamot members and powerful Pure-bloods. His way of introducing them as a couple bothered her, but Riddle didn't seem to mind, he rather played along. She kept her polite smile up, but fumed inside by the thought that all these people would think that she was his _ girlfriend _ , not just his date for the evening _ . _ Instead she tried to drain her glass of champagne, discovering after a while that it was continually refilling itself. _ Better be careful_, _ I can't keep my temper in check if I get drunk_, she told herself. Still, a pleasant buzz had settled, blurring her alertness. 

There were men asking her to dance, but somehow, they all retreated hastily, excusing themselves after a brief look at him.

"You must be scaring them," she murmured to him. "And I'd like to dance."

"I'll dance with you," he said, leading her out on the dance floor to a slow waltz. Circling the floor, she thought to herself: _ I should be scared and angry. I'm dancing with Riddle – no – Voldemort, and he wears a Horcrux. He tortured me – no, the Walburga-me – only a few days ago. I should be thinking of how to kill him and destroy the Horcrux, avenging that poor, abused Ravenclaw girl, not feeling fuzzy and enjoying dancing. Because she really did enjoy it_. 

He held her tight, leading her expertly, and again she had that overpowering sensation of him smelling so good. She leaned her head against his chest, trying discreetly to inhale that lovely, musky smell which was all him. _ I must be drunk_, _ really drunk, _ she realized, pulling her head away abruptly. _ No more champagne for me, it'll be tea for the rest of the evening. _

Much to her surprise, she saw Muriel Weasley and Abraxas Malfoy sway past them, her eyes closed and her head on his shoulder in a slow, elegant waltz. Malfoy had a rapt expression on his face, and he held Muriel tenderly. _ Maybe she wasn't the only one with too much champagne_, she secretly sniggered to herself.

The evening was filled with talks and conversations, and so many powerful names swirled in the air. She was a little surprised by Riddle's skill in keeping up small talk, but kept her own by offering up her opinions and views in conversations. Most of the men seemed to expect her to be a silent, sweet and smiling girl on the arm of her boyfriend, though after their initial surprise they included her in discussions. She listened carefully and learned quite a lot about the Ministry, power relations and job opportunities. After a while, she noted that even though they appreciated her taking part in the conversations, all the mentions of possible job offers were directed at him, _ not _ to her.

"The department of Mysteries could be just the place for an intelligent wizard such as you, Mr. Riddle," the Deputy Head of said department stated. "We are always on the lookout for clever, creative men that want to test the boundaries of magic." He flashed her a smile, adding: "And you, Miss Granger, with your time travelling experience, I'm sure you'd be interested in visiting us to see our research on time travelling. Maybe we could arrange something during summer? I'm sure you would like to see the place where your…" his eyes travelled to Riddle, "... your fiancée could be working."

Her eyes almost popped out of her head, but before she managed to open her mouth to set things straight, the _ blasted _ man, _ Voldemort, _ squeezed her arm and interrupted smoothly:

"I appreciate that, and I'm sure _ my Hermione _ would love to visit. The Department of Mysteries is a very intriguing place, with very exciting possibilities. I'm very interested in magical research, as there are so many things to discover. If you would excuse us… "

He led her out on the dance floor again, placing his hand on the small of her back. Leaning down to her, he hissed: "Calm down! Don't ruin this now, we've been such a good team tonight. Remember, the executive from the Magical Law Enforcement almost made you an offer. Someone will come around, and there'll be one more Slug Club before summer."

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to smother her anger. Opening her eyes again, she told him: "You’re right. But we can't let these people go around believing we're engaged! It's bad enough as it is. Now they'll think that I don't _ want _ a job at all, and that everything I dream of is keeping house for _ you _."

The slow smile that crept over his face was thoroughly disconcerting, and he pressed her body closer to him, far too close, their hips almost grinding against each other. She saw Mariette _ smirking _ at her from across the dance floor, and rolled her eyes back at her. Mariette pointed to one of the sofas, mouthing for them to join her and Sebastian Lestrange. _ Anything was better than continuing dancing, being so close to him. _

She nodded to her, saying to Riddle: "Why don't we go over and sit? At least for a little while, until I'm ready to face insults to my intellect and capacity again."

Moving over, the sofa area suddenly seemed to fill with his Death Eater gang, leaving only a single seat. He pulled her down in his lap, and put his arms around her. "I'm too heavy, I'll better get up," she said quickly, but he held her back with surprising strength.

"Not at all," he murmured into her neck, his breath tickling her. Around them, Mariette, Sebastian and the rest of the gang were chatting amiably, joking and laughing, telling each other about the people they had met during the evening. He was quiet, though. 

Goosebumps broke out as he started to stroke her bare arms. The feeling of his hands was comfortable, _ much _ too comfortable, and she squirmed a little in his lap. A jolt went through her body as she _ felt _ him, swelling long and hard against her bum. Panic struck, and she stiffened. _ Oh Merlin, what do I do? It's fucking Voldemort having a hard on for me! _

Swallowing, she felt mortified – though she wasn't as disgusted as she should be by any rights, blaming it all on the champagne she had swilled earlier in the evening. _ Still, she had to get away. What would a Slytherin do? Oh yes, play him too. _

Turning around, she put one arm on his shoulder and whispered softly in his ear: "This is nice, but no thanks."

"Why not?" he replied, shifting her a little so that his erection poked _ right _at her center. She almost gasped by his boldness.

"Because it's not appropriate in this time and age," she said with a slightly forced wink.

"Was it appropriate in your time? With this _ Viktor Krum _?" His hands were now crushing her arms, and she wondered if he would leave a bruise. 

Still playing it cool, she said: "It could have been." She arched her eyebrows at him, giving him a small smile.

"Did you?" His dark eyes became stormy, and his grasp on her arms began to hurt.

"What a question to ask a lady!" She pried herself loose, and got up, still smiling at his angry face, as she backed off. _ Play him, don't antagonize him. This night must have worked wonders for his trust in me, why did he have to ruin it again by being turned on? _

Hermione had only planned to help herself to more of the delicious finger sandwiches before she returned to her friends, but on her way over she was caught by a young ministry official who she'd met previously in the evening. _ Dibbet or Dabbet_, she thought_, working in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes_.

The young wizard swept her out on the dance floor, rubbing her back slowly, telling her with an ingratiating smile: "I was amazed by your knowledge earlier, Miss Granger. And you look so lovely tonight, no wonder your fiancée seems to be somewhat protective. There are surely any number of gentlemen who'd like to spend time with you. I, for one, think that a young lady like you should get your chance on a night like this to get to know some older, more experienced men." 

_ What a prat, _she thought, almost rolling her eyes at his see-through advance. She noted that with his muscular build and rich, brown hair, he looked quite good, but she immediately began looking for how to escape this idiot. But there was no need to worry, as Dibbet-or-Dabbet suddenly stopped short, looking pale. 

"I meant no harm," he stuttered, "we're just dancing." His hands were suddenly wrenched off her, and he retreated. Turning around, she knew exactly who she'd see, but his level of fury was still a surprise.

Blinking, she said: "Thank you for saving me, he was really a prat." Giving him a smile to placate him, she placed her hands on his arms, moving to dance. He grabbed her, pushing her into a tight embrace, growling: "I don't appreciate being turned down. I _ never _get turned down, Granger. And you don't get to dance with other men."

His eyes were glittering darkly, and suddenly she was very afraid. His unstable side was out in full force – _ again_. And she really didn't want to be on the receiving end of neither his anger nor his desires. He radiated fury, his eyes burning into her face, but she _ still _could feel his erection pressed into her stomach. 

Her hands were shaking, and she felt clammy with fear, the memory of his Cruciatus still strong. 

_ Will he attack me? Will he force himself on me? Will he try to ruin me if I turn him down? _ Fear and confusion swirled through her mind, but there was one overriding thought: _ I have to get away, now. _

When the music stopped, she excused herself, telling him she needed to go to the bathroom.

Her relief was immense as she entered the corridor, but still her body shook. _ He was simply scary. _ She had absolutely no intentions of returning to the party – _ no, she'd retire, never mind leaving him alone at the party, she had to get away_. The air was cold after Slughorn's crowded room, or maybe she was too warm – she felt almost feverish. 

Suddenly, steps rang through the corridor behind her. _ Oh no! _She started running, knowing instinctively who her stalker was. But in high heels she didn't stand a chance, and he was in front of her in mere seconds, shoving her into an empty classroom.

"No," she whispered, thinking he'd use the Cruciatus or some other dark curse on her, or forcing her down on her knees like the Ravenclaw girl. He took hold of her roughly, and pushed her against the wall. She tried to fight him, but he pressed his body into hers, and then he kissed her. 

The kiss was brutal, his lips hard, and he drove his tongue into her mouth by force. She gasped in shock, standing still for a moment before her fight or flight-impulse kicked in. She tried to wriggle away, using her hands to push him off, but he effectively stopped her by grabbing her hands and pinning them above her head with one hand, his Horcrux ring scratching at her wrists as she fought. _ She just couldn't get free. _

Panic was taking over, but then his other hand did something to the side of her neck that made her feel _ something. Something, and the feeling was growing, and it was … good. _After a while, she realized the kiss had changed into something softer, and then she understood: she was kissing him back. Her tongue licked at his, her lips moved and nipped at him, and her arms was now around his neck. Heart pounding in her chest, she could feel his heart racing too. 

Her brain screamed at her: _ You're kissing Lord Voldemort! You can't enjoy this – he tortured you, tried to kill you and everyone you love! _

Chest heaving, she broke the kiss. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and he was breathing hard too, looking at her mouth again with a slack, unfocused gaze. Quickly, she Stunned him wordlessly, and ran off. Kicking off her shoes like a Cinderella in distress, she ran for her life down the stairs to the dungeon, gasping the password as she clutched at her side.

She almost made it to the dormitory, before he slammed her into the wall again, hissing with eyes black as burning coals: "No one ever gets away, Granger. I always get what I want._ " _

He kissed her again, and she felt a deep remorse by the fact that her traitorous body – _ not her _ – was kissing him back with passion.

_ Her tongue meeting his, his hand roaming over her back, the other curling possessively around her neck, her mouth moving eagerly at his, tasting and nipping, his hands at her hips, her hands squeezing his shoulders, dragging his head down to her, his hands moving down to her thighs, her fingers entwined in his hair, his hand lifting one of her legs to push himself closer to her, her leg curling around him, his hard cock pressed into her stomach, her body taut with wet need for him … _

As they heard voices in the hallway, he let her go, and she tumbled into the relative safety of her dorm. Pulling the curtains on the bed, she hid under her covers, curling up into a shivering, little ball again. _ I've never felt so helpless in my life. I can't do this. _

But, she had gotten a hair from him for her Polyjuice. At least she had one small victory.


	10. Blackmail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her eyes suddenly glued to his face in fright, she whispered: "You wouldn't do that, would you?"
> 
> "Just kiss me, Hermione. You might enjoy it. And you will call me Tom from now on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delayed posting! Work has been mad recently... 
> 
> This chapter has a very manipulative Tom. In short, he's a bastard, and the chapter title is definitely not a random choice.

The following morning, she felt almost queasy. Rising very early, not being able to sleep, she really didn't know what to expect. _ What would he do? Kiss her, ignore her or anything in between? _ For herself, she didn't really know what she wanted. She had to admit that physically, he had blown her away, to her great dismay. _ She had wanted him_. But that feeling waged a war with her fear and hatred for him. _ Yes, she could reassure herself that she still was determined to kill him – no matter what her body wanted to do. _

The mixed feelings did nothing for her nerves, and just thinking about meeting him again made her feel an uncomfortable trepidation. At all costs, she wanted to avoid the Great Hall, not yet feeling up to conversations. Asking for a cup of tea and a biscuit in the great kitchen, the House-elves were happy to oblige her. 

Hoping that no one else would be in the library this early, she almost turned around on the doorstep, as _ he _was sitting alone in the library, reading the Daily Prophet. The early morning rays of the sun gave a soft glow to his features, defining his cheekbones, playing on his dark hair and giving his pale complexion a slightly golden sheen. 

Sighing deeply, she knew, running away would only postpone the inevitable. Squaring her shoulders, pulling up her Gryffindor courage, she made herself look at him. Something wrenched in her gut - _ he was just impossibly handsome. _ To her great dismay, all the insecurity that Walburga had prodded at the night before came back in full force. _ Why would anyone looking like THAT even bother to kiss her? She just couldn't understand why, except …. it was a power thing. Surely, it had to be. He just wanted to conquer everyone, it had absolutely nothing to do with him being interested in herself. Somehow, the realization made her feel both better AND worse at the same time. _

Heart pounding in her chest, she sat down on the other side of the table as quietly as she could. Riddle looked up from his paper, and gave her a nod. "You're early," he remarked.

"Yes." She couldn't find anything to say to ease the awkwardness she was feeling.

"Couldn't sleep? You're not usually an early riser." He gave her a small grin.

Hermione blushed, _ as if he knew anything about that, _but come to think of it, he usually had breakfast with her, so he would know her routine. "Umm, well. No, I woke up, couldn't find my sleep again," she said, looking down in her bag, looking for her books.

"Me neither," he said. He Summoned another copy of the Prophet, and gave it to her, hands touching briefly. She felt her skin tingle, but he merely retracted his hand. Reading in silence, she was enormously relieved for not having to keep up a conversation. After finishing her paper, she rose from the table. He stood up, following her wordlessly. 

On the way out, he slung his arm around her shoulders, giving her a brief squeeze, before he took off in another direction. It left her just as confused as before meeting him, but at least, that first, awkward meeting was history.

Xxxx

In the days that followed, he acted like nothing had happened, but suddenly he spent more time in the dungeon in the evenings, sitting close to her, or joining her in the library doing homework more often than not. While he seemed normal enough, she was deeply disturbed by the fact that people had started to refer to her as Riddle's girlfriend. He did nothing to quash the rumours, rather the opposite, and no one seemed to believe her when she told them it wasn't like that.

"Could you ask your boyfriend to help me with my Potions essay?" The small, skinny boy that was Orion Black looked imploringly at her, while his right hand plucked absentmindedly at a pimple on his chin. "You see, my family will skin me alive if I don't up my grade. I really need his help."

Knowing the Blacks, she rather thought the threat might be real, but instead she latched on to what he was asking. "My boyfriend? I'm not sure what you mean, I don't have a boyfriend."

Orion Black gave her an exasperated look, like she was _ so _ impossibly daft, and replied: "Riddle, I mean. He's your boyfriend, right? Would you please ask him? He'll listen to you!"

Blinking, she just shook her head. "You should do your own homework, Black. But why don't you ask Walburga? She's quite good at Potions."

"Umm, well, I'd rather not. She's the one who threatened to skin me." Orion looked a little uncomfortable.

Hermione almost had to laugh, but she said adamantly: "I'm not asking Riddle for favours, you can be sure about that. Go ask him yourself."

Later in the day, two Hufflepuff girls in her Herbology class whispered to her: "You're sooo lucky to be Riddle's girlfriend." The girls giggled, _ rather acting like fifth years than seventh years_, Hermione thought grumpily. The three of them were in the storeroom of the greenhouse, gathering fertilizers for their Asphodel pods.

"I'm not really…" she started to say politely, but one of the girls interrupted her: "You're so modest, just like he said you would be."

Gaping, Hermione only stuttered out "Excuse me…?"

The girl smiled at her, saying: "He told us earlier in the lesson, saying that the two of you were together, but that you were likely to deny it due to modesty."

She didn't know what to say, just gathering up her fertilizer and walked back to her Asphodel pods. _ There was no way he had said that, _ she was absolutely sure. _ This was probably a stupid example of girly mind games due to jealousy, designed to make her look like a fool if she was stupid enough to confront him with their statements. _Digging into the damp earth with vehemence, she actually for once welcomed physical labor as she spread out her fertilizer.

Xxxx

She decided to spend her evenings in the dorm to be alone. It was too disturbing: On one hand, there was a perfectly normal Riddle, acting like nothing was out of the ordinary, and on the other hand, there were any number of people asking her about him or worse, telling her that _ he _ told them that _ she _was his girlfriend.

On the second night Joanna and Mariette asked her to come downstairs, but she wouldn't budge. They sat down on her bed, closing her books and putting them away without listening to her protests.

"Is this because of Riddle?" Joanna asked. "You never told us what happened at the Slug Club."

"I wondered, you left all of a sudden, and he did too," Mariette said.

Hermione felt like she should have been crying. She wanted to tell her sweet, caring friends about her worries and fears, but she couldn't without telling them what he would become. After all, if she hadn't known anything about his future, she'd probably have fallen into his arms without any qualms. 

Instead she offered: "It was a game, you know, we were only pretending to be dating at the party. There is nothing between us, but all evening he made people believe that I was his girlfriend, even his fiancée. And then he suddenly started to act like it, trying to…" she blushed deeply, "... trying to do _ things _ to me. When I danced with another man he became really scary and angry."

"_Things? _ What did he do? I didn't see anything," Mariette said.

"Ah, well, you know, he pulled me down into his lap, remember? And then I felt his, his…" she stuttered. _ What in the world would a girl in the forties say? Did they say cock, or penis, or willy, or…? _Hermione really didn't know. "His you-know-what," she finished lamely, mentally berating herself for the silly allusion to his future nickname.

"Oooh," Joanna breathed. "You turned him on, and in public at that!"

"No, _ I _didn't turn him on, he did that all by himself! But then I left, and he came after me, kissing me." And now her tears were actually falling, for once, and she lowered her head, hiding behind her curls, sniffling: "And he was so scary, saying no one gets away, and he always gets what he wants."

Eyes round and shocked, Mariette exclaimed: "He didn't do _ that _ to you? Did he rape you?" She put her arms around Hermione, hugging her.

"No, no, he didn't. I kissed him back, but it was still scary," she said shamefacedly. "Someone came, or else I don't know what would have happened. And now he's pretending that nothing happened, but I don't _ trust _him. As everyone keeps telling me, his relationships don't last. And I'm certainly not his girlfriend, whatever he's telling people!"

Joanna and Mariette shared a look.

"Hermione,” Joanna said gently. "Do you know that to our knowledge, he has never, ever chased after a girl? And he most certainly has never named anyone his girlfriend. This is unusual."

"Yes," Mariette nodded. "As you know, he sometimes picks up a girl that's chasing him, and then suddenly he cuts them off. No one tells, but I think it's a safe bet to say," her voice lowered to a scandalized whisper, "that he has sex with them, and when he's done he tells them to leave. Usually this happens after a day or two, a week or two at the most. So, whatever he's doing to you, it's _ different. _"

Hermione felt almost like she couldn't breathe. _ She wanted him to notice her, to trust her, but she definitely didn't want any other kind of attention from him, never mind the way he looked. _

Shaking her head, she said vehemently, not believing her own lie: "It's because he's curious about the future. He wants to know what happens to him. There is nothing else."

"Except that he _ wants _ you," Mariette finished drily.

XXXX

She needed to be alone. To escape him, she stopped reading in the library. Instead she studied in the Room of Requirement for one, blessed, peaceful week, staying there until curfew each night. She tended her Polyjuice, though she didn't quite dare to use it – she would have to find a perfect occasion when he was _ sure _ to be away.

One evening he waited outside as she left. "You can't hide forever. It was easy enough to have someone following you to find out where you've been." He took her arm, walking her down the corridor. "This won't do, you know. As my girlfriend, you need to be with me outside classes. From now, you'll be studying with me as usual in the library, and spending time with me in the dungeon."

Stopping, she told him eyes blazing and her fears temporarily forgotten: "I'm not your girlfriend!" Her magic crackled around her, making the tapestry of an exceptionally ugly wizard caressing a pretty Mermaid move as if in a breeze. But he just smiled.

"Are you quite sure about that?" he quipped.

"Yes!" she yelled.

"I'm not," he chuckled. Exasperated, she tried to break free, but his grip was too strong.

"I don't _ do _ leftovers, Riddle!" she gritted out.

His brow furrowed. "Leftovers? What do you mean by that?"

"It's not like people haven't told me about you going through all the girls in school," she snarled. 

"I don't want people to think I'm merely one in a long line of girls for you. Especially when it isn't true."

His eyes darkened, but then he laughed. "Are you _ jealous, _Hermione?"

As they heard footsteps, he pushed her into the wall and kissed her, taking her totally by surprise. Before she could react, he broke off the kiss.

"Kissing in the corridors? My, my!" Slughorn smiled. "If it were any other than the two of you, I'd withdraw points. But run along, I didn't see this. Just remember to invite me to your wedding!"

Riddle had the nerve to pretend looking embarrassed, but then he said brightly: "Of course, I'll make sure of it, Professor. You'll be on top of our list. Come on, Hermione!" And then he pinched her bottom. She jumped, scowling at him, and Slughorn laughed as he moved on.

"What the hell was that," she hissed, "you can't continue to spread rumours about this!"

He gave her an amused glance, but made no comment. Instead he told her: "You know, I have a lot of people willing to do me favours. They'll look after you when I'm busy. I don't want any more attacks on you from angry Gryffindors. You can make this easy by doing as I wish, or we can do this the hard way."

"Are you threatening me?" she answered, feeling both anxious and angry.

"Why would you think that? I'm only taking care of you and making sure you are safe – at all times." His smile was chilling_ . _

Shuddering, Hermione realized: _ To get closer, I may have to do this. I will not be a conquest, but I can't go around antagonizing him at all times. I need to go along with this for a while. _

The whole thing left a sour taste to her mouth. The thought of the poor Ravenclaw fifth year and all the other girls that might have experienced something similar made her feel awful. _ But at least he's starting to show me his true colours. The snake inside has reared its ugly head. It's just that now, when it has finally happened, I wish the evil side of him had remained hidden. _

Xxxx

She just couldn't explain her apparent change of heart to Mariette and Joanna. First and foremost, she didn't want to scare them with his veiled threats. Second, she couldn't tell them why it was so important to her to get close to him that she'd agree to pretend being his girlfriend, even though she didn't want to. So she opted for a lie, letting them believe that she had fallen in love with him. _ But her pride was smarting badly. _

"It's ok, Hermione," Joanna said softly to her with a warm smile. "We knew, and we've known that for quite some time. After all, there isn't a girl in Hogwarts that hasn't been in love with him at one time or another."

"Yes," Mariette agreed. "There was no way you'd be unaffected, with all the attention he showered on you. It just took some time for you to admit it. I hope you'll be happy, and I guess he'll be his usual, nice self when he isn't as jealous as he was."

And their words _ hurt _ her_. _They were her friends, they should have known something wasn't right.

Xxxx

She studied with him, ate her meals with him, walked to classes with him, talked to him and his friends. The strain of being with him at all times was taking its toll on her, and she had never slept less in her life. Staring at the ceiling at night, afraid to fall asleep and lose herself into horrible nightmares, she was even more frightened by the fact that not all dreams about him were nightmares. Some of them were simply ordinary dreams, and some of them were good dreams. Having Lord Voldemort as such a routine part of her life that he even appeared in her dreams doing _ normal things _was just too terrible to contemplate.

In their spare time, he'd order her: "Come and sit here, Hermione," patting the seat beside him. Slinging his arm around her shoulder, he would crush her into him, sometimes nuzzling her hair like an affectionate boyfriend, even giving her light kisses on her cheek or neck. But she was sure she had struck upon the reason for his odd behavior: _ It was all an act, and it was all for power_. He obviously wanted to repair his image as the nice Head Boy by pretending to care about her. She firmly believed that his goal was to make everyone think that his behavior on the Halloween feast was due to heartbreak and jealousy. And his strategy worked wonders. 

Everyone thought their "love story" was amazing, and people told her that she should be deliriously happy, having the model student, everyone's favorite Head Boy, the _ good, kind _ and _ promising _young man falling in love with her. She just smiled weakly at them, but she tried to avoid all intimacy with him as much as possible. After all, she wasn't sure if she could trust herself. He wasn't satisfied, though.

"You need to kiss me, Hermione," he told her one afternoon just after their Potions class.

"Why?" She looked at him with surprise. _ Really, was he ordering her to kiss him? He couldn't seriously expect her to follow up on that. _

"You're my girlfriend. Or else people will start to wonder when and where we do our snogging, and why it's out of sight." He _ winked _ at her, making her blush.

"Right. Let them wonder." She just stared straight ahead, not meeting his eyes.

"You'll kiss me. Tonight, in the dungeon, in front of everyone. At least one kiss initiated by you in public every day. And you won't object if I kiss you either."

Shaking her head at him, she said: "You can't seriously mean that you want to make a deal with me about _ snogging." _

He frowned a little, and pulled her aside in the corridor. "It doesn't look like you're going to do this of your own volition, as you shy away from me whenever I try to get close to you. I think you need some conditioning - we'll make a habit out of it for you to help you come around."

Staring incredulously at him, she hissed at him: "Conditioning me – like I'm Pavlov's dog, or something? You've certainly got a nerve! I can tell you one thing, _ Mr. Riddle, _I won't be kissing you!"

He gave her an appreciative glance, before mumbling: “I should have known you’d read Muggle psychology too.” 

Huffing, she tried to walk away, but his grip on her arm was unrelenting, fingers curling loose but firm around her wrist. Glaring at him, she stood still, instead of suffering the indignity of trying to yank her arm free and lose. 

Then he sighed. "I was afraid you might react like this. Remember, I told you we could do it the hard way. If this is truly what you choose… " 

A shiver crept over her skin, goosebumps forming, as his eyes grew colder. Leaning in, he whispered in her ear: "It would be such a shame if anything happened to your friends. I know Edward Goyle fancies Mariette. In the dorm, we're frequently forced to listen to him moaning her name. Of course, that's simply because he doesn't know how to cast a proper Silencing spell. But who knows what he can do to her if the circumstances were right, and there was no one to stop him."

Her eyes suddenly glued to his face in fright, she whispered: "You wouldn't do that, would you?"

"Just kiss me, Hermione. You might enjoy it. And you will call me Tom from now on."

Xxxx

Hiding in the grounds instead of going to supper, she felt very disturbed by his threats. She couldn't risk Mariette's safety – she knew all too well what he really was capable of. But it also made her wonder if he was close to reveal himself as an aspiring dark wizard to her, because no sane boyfriends made threats like that. _ Was he giving up on his pretending? _ After all, her plan was to get his trust, and that would mean getting to know the dark side of him too. _ Maybe she was succeeding, though her personal cost seemed to grow at every turn. _

Xxxx

In the evening, she entered the dungeon with a heavy heart. He noticed her immediately, his lips quirking into a small smile. She felt as if she dragged her feet, but still she made herself walk up to him. He looked expectantly up at her, black eyes glittering with triumph. . 

Feeling repulsed, she still grabbed hold of his shoulder and made herself smile at him.

"Hey Tom," she said softly, using his first name for the first time, and she leaned down and kissed his mouth. It was not quite a peck on the lips, but it certainly wasn't long. He obviously wasn't satisfied, so he pulled her down into his lap and gave her a long, deep kiss, only stopping as Abraxas Malfoy began to whistle. Her cheeks burning, she couldn't meet the eyes of Mariette and Joanna.

The next morning, it was even worse. He kissed her at breakfast in the Great Hall, and all of Benjamin Darnsby’s Gryffindor friends shoot glares at her. There hadn't been any more attacks, but she rather suspected this was due to her being in his presence almost all the time. 

Apparently, most Gryffindors had too much respect or maybe even fear for Head Boy Tom Riddle to openly hex his girlfriend. It galled her, because she was absolutely capable of defending herself. _ Why didn't the Gryffindors show as much respect to her? She had proven herself to be a very good duelist! _

In the girls’ bathroom before Transfiguration class, Muriel Weasley hissed at her: "I thought you were different, not leading on a good lad like Benjamin just to use him in one of your little dirty Slytherin ploys. You've proved it now, you were only using him to get Riddle on the hook! It makes me mad, because I actually thought you were nice and rather cool, with your fight against the stupid Householding course. Granger, you are such a slut!"

She didn't have a reply to this, because after all: _ What could she say _? To tell the truth was out of the question. 

Instead, she decided to play her part as a Slytherin, saying a little callously: "I hear you and Abraxas are coming along splendidly. He has a lot to tell about you in the dungeon." It was only as Muriel's face became a deep shade of beet red, she understood that her comment had struck gold.

  
Xxxx

After class, Dumbledore asked her to stay behind. Tom was waiting at the door, and he most certainly didn't like it when Dumbledore said: "Run along, Tom. Hermione will be just behind you."

As the door closed, Dumbledore looked searchingly at her. "Are you alright? This relationship of yours with Tom Riddle, it surprised me."

She nodded. "Me too," she said curtly. "But it's necessary for my mission."

Dumbledore looked away, starting to speak several times, stopping himself before it came out: "Is it, no. Is it, the one you're trying to stop, I shouldn't ask you, but is it… Is it Tom Riddle?"

Hermione met his gaze. Those blue eyes had not one speck of his usual twinkle. "I think you already know the answer to that, Professor," she said slowly.

"Do what you must, Hermione, but be very careful. Don't put yourself in danger."

At that she smiled. "I'm always in danger, professor. But thanks for the warning."

Xxxx

"Today's lesson is the Patronus Charm," Professor Merryweather said. "It is a difficult spell, and many adult wizards cannot do it properly. Can anyone tell me about the Charm?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air as usual, but she noticed that, for a change, Tom sat quietly. 

She rattled off everything she knew about the Charm, and Professor Merryweather smiled at her: "Five points to Slytherin. Tell me, Miss Granger, have you succeeded in producing a Patronus?"

Beaming, Hermione said: "Yes, my Patronus is an otter."

Abraxas Malfoy snickered, but Merryweather shut him up with a glance, saying: "A Patronus is in the form of an animal, and all species have been known to be produced. Who knows, Mr. Malfoy, your Patronus might become anything between a _ rodent _ and a dragon." 

The Hufflepuffs, who had Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Slytherins, roared with laughter, and Malfoy reddened. _ Ferret-boy _ , Hermione thought maliciously, _ maybe I'm not the only one who thinks the Malfoy men look like rodents? _

Merryweather turned back to Hermione, asking her with a kind look: "Would you like to demonstrate your Patronus to the class, Miss Granger?"

She nodded, standing up. She thought hard about her happy memories – they seemed somewhat faded, the memories weren't quite _ anchored _ in her body like they should be, but she chose the memory of how she felt when she had saved Buckbeak with Harry and Ron.

Casting "_Expecto Patronum_" in a clear, ringing voice, her wand emitted a weak puff of greyish smoke. She stared at it, shock permeating her very being. _ It wasn't even a non corporeal Patronus. _

Someone laughed, _ she thought it was Walburga_, but it was suddenly cut short.

"Would you like to try again, Miss Granger?" Merryweather asked.

"Umm, yes. Maybe the memory wasn't happy enough," she offered weakly. _ But it should have been. _ Thinking about her relief after waking up from the basilisk induced petrified state, she couldn't even make her wand give off smoke. Shaking her head at Merryweather, she said in a low voice: "I don't know what happened, Professor. I swear, I wasn't lying." She felt ill, not knowing what was wrong. _ Why had her Patronus failed? _

Merryweather nodded kindly at her. "It isn't uncommon to experience problems with the Patronus Charm when something big happens in your life. I imagine being stuck in another time is one of those changes. Rest assured, Miss Granger, I believe you. You're not one to brag. Let me think, Tom, would you like to demonstrate your Patronus? As I remember, you produced one already in your second year."

He looked very uncomfortable for a moment, before saying: "If you'd excuse me, Professor Merryweather, I'd like to escort Hermione to the Hospital Wing. She looks a bit ill."

"Why, of course, you're right. She does look a little peaky. How considerate of you, Tom. Off you go!"

He offered her his arm, and she took it. _ She wasn't ill, but she didn't feel good. Maybe it would do her good to rest a little, giving her time to think about her Patronus. _

In the Hospital wing, she got a Pepper-Up Potion, and Madam Fitchwitch told her to lie down for a while to rest.

"Can I stay with her, please?" Tom asked. _ Oh, he used those dark eyes expertly, _ Hermione thought. _ Madam Fitchwitch didn't stand a chance. _The Mediwitch just nodded and beamed at him.

He found a chair, sitting down beside her. "So, what happened to your Patronus?" he asked conversationally, his eyes boring into her.

She squirmed a little, but said truthfully: "I don't know."

"When was the last time you produced one?"

"It was sometime before I ended up here," she replied.

"And you had no trouble producing it at that time?"

"No. What's up with the interrogation?" she asked him, a little irritated by his questions.

He looked at her, with a speculative frown. "There are any number of reasons why one could lose one's ability to produce a Patronus. Most of the time, it will be temporarily. In some other cases, it could be permanent. What do _ you _ think, Hermione, will be the case for you?"

Staring at him, she wondered: _ What was he aiming at? _ Thinking through it, she realized that you could, of course, have trouble with your Patronus because of experiencing a crisis, just like Merryweather had said. You could also lose your ability to produce one if you somehow had crossed the line into darkness. 

Narrowing her eyes, she understood. "Temporarily," she said with determination. "Not permanently."

He smiled at her, but obviously he wasn't convinced. "If you say so," he said. "You're the one to know."

"What about you?" she asked shrewdly. "When did your Patronus fail?" _ Because it must have happened, at least after making his Horcruxes. _

"Why do you think it failed?" he asked quickly, too quickly, masking a brief, troubled look.

"Or else you would have produced your Patronus before escorting me to the Hospital Wing. You're a show-off," she said, winking at him.

He smiled a little, but his eyes were cold and considering. And then he struck up a discussion about the detrimental effects of abusing Pepper-Up Potion. As he slowly and deliciously stroked her arm, she lost herself in the sensation and the argument for keeping use of the potion to a bare minimum. _ But_, she noted, _ he obviously wasn't comfortable with losing this ability. And neither was she. _

Xxxx

After a few weeks, she felt like she had gotten used to his touch, just like he had intended. She thought a little bitterly: _ He was grooming her. _It struck her suddenly one evening, as she was about to go to bed, that he had been successful. Telling him good night, she puckered her lips expectantly, waiting for his kiss. 

The realization suddenly flew through her mind – she had gotten into a habit of kissing him. _ Merlin, what am I doing? _

She could see the flash of triumph in his eyes – the triumph due to _ her _ own realization, she understood. _ He _ knew that _ she _ knew she was expecting his kiss, and that made his victory even sweeter.

Xxxx

Walburga was sitting on her bed, reading, and finally, Hermione had the opportunity to talk to her alone.

"Hey," she said, sitting down on her own bed. Walburga only lifted her eyebrows in recognition, eyes still locked on her book. Hermione knew that feeling of being disturbed, when you're deeply immersed in a book, and someone tries to drag you back into the real world. _ When the world was not what you craved, not anything like it, and you just wanted to escape to a place with more … colour, more life, more meaning. Oh, being disturbed reading was an infuriating experience, but she really needed to talk to Walburga. _

"You know, I thought I could ask you about the advice you gave me after the Halloween feast. You seem like you know Tom well."

"I don't see why you have to ask. You took my advice, and as far I can see, it worked splendidly," Walburga didn't raise her eyes from her book.

"I mean, you told me he's a bit different, that he's not what he seems. What did you mean by that?"

The corners of Walburga's mouth curled up, and she replied: "I can't tell you more than that. If you stick around him, he might tell you himself. It's not my place to tell you."

"But you basically told me he'd rape me if I didn't go along with his wishes."

Now she had Walburga's attention alright, as her green eyes locked on Hermione's brown.

"I didn't say he'd rape you. I said he'd _ take _ you. There's a world of difference between those two things, Hermione, when you have his level of magical strength. He would take you, body and soul, and the physical part might be the easiest. But as I said, you gave in, and he's happy. What's more to say?" She scowled at Hermione, reminding her that Mariette and Joanna had told her that Walburga _ loved _ Riddle.

Slowly, she answered: "But I haven't given in, at least not in the way you think. We've only kissed, nothing more."

Walburga's eyes narrowed, and she closed her book with a bang. "Liar!" she hissed, stalking out of the dorm.

Xxxx

One day in December, Slughorn offered Tom a chance to visit the Ministry.

"I'd like you to meet some influential friends of mine in the Department of Mysteries – and you will be able to do your Christmas shopping at the same time, m'boy. How about something special for Hermione?" Slughorn winked at him.

He jumped at the invitation, of course, telling Slughorn how grateful he was for the opportunity, adding: "And Hermione deserves something special for Christmas, you're right about that, Professor!"

She on the other hand, smiled weakly, seeing Slughorn _ nudge _ Tom with his elbow, smiling slyly. _ She sincerely didn't want to know what was on Slughorn's mind. _

But Christmas presents? She hadn't thought about that, but it stood to reason that a girl would give her boyfriend a present, though she didn't really feel like giving Christmas presents to him. _ He was, after all, Lord Voldemort. What would she buy for someone like him? Oh well, next weekend was a Hogsmeade trip. She would have her chance to buy a present then. _

More importantly, him leaving the perimeter presented her with another opportunity.

As Slughorn and Tom left for Hogsmeade to Apparate a few days later, Hermione kissed him goodbye, and sprinted to the Room of Requirement to ready her Polyjuice. Putting his hair into the vial, she watched it turn into a putrid black, with fierce, red streaks, like flowing lava breaking its crust into a red inferno.

The taste, however, was bitter and spicy. _ Not entirely unpleasant, she had to admit to herself with a grimace. _The transformation was painful, but suddenly, she stood there in front of the mirror, tall, broad-shouldered and handsome - dressed in a too short skirt and her school shirt, which was literally bursting at the shoulders. Even though the situation called for efficiency, speed and some measures of gravity, she had to giggle, quickly transfiguring the clothes. 

Everything felt unfamiliar. She was too tall, it felt like she had no control over her limbs and her voice came out as a squeak. And that totally alien feeling in her trousers, of something that _ shouldn't be there _ was decidedly odd. Smiling a little to herself, she promised herself that she'd try this again later, just to see how _ that thing – _worked. Trying out his voice, she managed to lower the register to something like his natural voice, and then she put on a menacing scowl. 

She actually jumped a little, feeling threatened by the sight in the mirror. Shaking herself, she gave a bark of laughter, stopping short as it came out as a high, cold, chilling sound that raised the hairs on her arms. _I'd better be going_. _If I can scare myself, then I can_ _intimidate my way through Hogwarts_ _for an hour_.

Hurrying down the stairs, she met a few people, but the scowl on her face kept everyone away, like she had predicted. Entering the seventh year boys' dorm, it was luckily empty. Stepping up to his trunk, she reached out her hand, shaking a little. _ Yes, she managed to touch it, the wards parted to let her touch it. _

Quickly, she opened the trunk, starting to rifle through the contents. _ Damn, everything was placed so neatly and precisely. He'd be bound to notice that someone had moved his things around. _

Putting everything out on his bed, she realized neither the diary nor the ring was in the trunk. Only books, clothes, school things - nothing out of the ordinary. Not even a single book on dark magic - everything was perfectly normal, except a certain lack of personal items. _ Unless, there was a hidden room…? _

Poking at the trunk with her wand, she thought she caught a glimmer of a spell stuck at the bottom. _ Yes, there it was! _ Cleverly hidden, too. It reacted to her prodding with a sinister, red glow, and she quickly removed her wand. Instead she tried with her finger, and got a small but fierce scorch mark as a reward. Clearly this ward was different, not attuned to his body, but something else. _ She just had to… _

Hearing footsteps behind her, she whirled around, seeing Abraxas entering the dorm. She quickly hid her wand – it would be a dead giveaway.

Abraxas gave her an odd look, seeing the contents of the trunk on the bed.

"Are you looking for something in particular, my Lord?" he said, lifting his eyebrows.

She gave him a stare she hoped was cold and haughty. It worked, as Abraxas flinched. "I meant no disrespect, my Lord," he said. "I was merely surprised."

She nodded, squinting her eyes menacingly at him. _ Did she dare try speaking? _

Abraxas continued: "I thought you were going to Diagon Alley with Slughorn? Was there a change of plans? If so, do you wish to hold the meeting we postponed? I can get everyone ready in a short while, my Lord. Then we wouldn't have to wait for the next weekend."

_ Oh. _ She forced down a small, hysterical giggle. _ Most certainly, she didn't feel up to holding a Death Eater meeting, or whatever this was. _ Clearing her voice, no – _ his _, she said gruffly: "No. Slughorn and I will be departing shortly. This…" she pointed to the contents of the trunk on the bed, "is just a bit of tidying."

Just as the last words left her mouth, she realized that this was indeed the wrong and stupid thing to say. _ Lord Voldemort didn't explain himself. And he probably had a nifty spell for keeping his trunk so tidy anyway. _

Abraxas stared at him. "Are you coming down with a cold, my Lord? Your voice is a little off, and you look feverish."

She busied herself with putting his books, clothes and other stuff into the trunk again, aiming to replicate the neat order in which she had found it. Slamming it shut, she turned to Abraxas, growling: "I'm not ill. I'm leaving now for Diagon Alley. You watch your mouth, Malfoy!"

Seeing Abraxas blanch, she hurried out of the dorm, almost crashing into the door frame. 

_ Really, this height and the width of shoulders would take more than an hour to get used to. _ She bounded up the stairs from the dungeons, marveling at the length of her stride and the strength of her limbs. It _ felt _ good, but at the same time, she was uneasy, experiencing the difference in physical strength between her own body and his. _ Magic aside, he could easily harm her if he wanted to. She wouldn't stand a chance. _

Entering the Room of Requirement, she sat down in her chair, feeling that the transformation back to her own body was imminent. She sincerely hoped Abraxas wouldn't mention the encounter to him.

Xxxx

Late one evening, he held her back in the dungeon as everyone went to bed. "You know, Marvin Crabbe so wants to know if Joanna's size makes her different from other girls. I mean, he thinks it would _ feel _differently when she's that small."

Shaking her head wearily with a disgusted frown on her face, she said: "What do you want now? Do you seriously enjoy threatening your so-called _ girlfriend? _"

"I want you to tell me two things from my future."

"You know I can't, it might destroy reality itself," she said, shaking her head.

"Just two things that I've been wondering about. One: You told me when we first met that I will make a name for myself. Does that mean I'll be powerful? Two: Do I actually take the Ministry? You acted so weird before the Slug Club, I can't help wondering."

She mulled it over, before looking at him. "It'll probably change things, but if you promise me that you will not hurt Joanna or Mariette, I'll tell you."

"I promise."

"Yeah, right," she scoffed. "YOU need to make an Unbreakable Vow. I don't trust you. Unless you do, you'll just make other threats to them later on."

Riddle stared at her. "Ok. I'll get a bonder." He left the room, and came back after a short while with a tired Abraxas Malfoy in his pajamas, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Presided over by a yawning, but pleased-looking Malfoy, the Vow was made. 

When Hermione thought about it, Abraxas had seemed to be in a very good mood lately. Quite cheery, even happy. _ Maybe he and Muriel really had hit it off? Oh dear, both Ron and Draco would rather have scratched their eyes out than acknowledging something like that. _

As Malfoy was commanded back to bed, Riddle turned to her, expectant.

"Ok. You're very powerful and everyone knows your name. Yes, you took the Ministry," she blurted out.

His eyes narrowing, he said with impatience in his voice: "Knowing my name, is that in a good way, or in a bad way?"

"Err, well, not in a good way." She didn't look at him, but she could feel him staring. He moved closer to her, his fingers playing with her hair.

"And why is that?"

"Well, as you can imagine by the fact that you broke our government, people think that you're kind of… kind of…", and then the word rushed out, and she looked him straight in the eye: "_dark". _

"I'll be a dark and powerful wizard?" His eyes filled with glittering triumph and glee.

"Yes. Definitely."

Instead of saying anything, he took her head between his hands and gave her a long, slow, deep kiss. Nudging his leg between her thighs, he ground against her, and she could feel him again, getting hard for her. His hands roamed her hips, squeezing her buttocks, pressing her closer to him.

  
When she finally broke free, she just turned on her heel and left for her dorm. She would not acknowledge the burning, clenching sensation in her stomach. _ Not ever. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did Tom Riddle read during those long summers at the orphanage? Being barred from doing magic and having little money, I'm imagining young Tom visiting libraries to read almost ... anything. Pavlov published his experiments with conditioning in 1897, so I'm guessing such research should be available in London in the thirties and the forties.


	11. Christmas Revels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then it hit her on a whim: He was, after all, Voldemort, though he pretended otherwise most of the time. Maybe he could be useful, too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Christmas fluff - but you still need to heed the tags.

Snow was falling lightly, dusting Hogwarts and Hogsmeade into sugar-coated landscapes. Smoke rose from chimneys, and everyone had adorned their houses with mistletoe, fir sprigs with fairy lights and other Christmas decorations. It looked like a confectioner going insane, creating marzipan- and chocolate-covered turrets, towers and halls out of the castle, and quaint, little gingerbread houses made up the village in the distance.

As Hermione trudged through the snow towards Hogsmeade, accompanied by Mariette and Joanna, for once she felt relaxed. Her friends would be leaving Hogwarts for the holidays, but still, Hermione looked forward to spending Christmas in the castle.

"What are you going to buy for your fiancée, Joanna?" Mariette asked.

Hermione gaped in shock. "Are you engaged, Joanna? You never told me! Who's this? Is he here, at Hogwarts?"

"Oh," Joanna blushed. "I'm sorry. It slipped my mind, I really don't think about him much. You see, we've been betrothed all my life."

Mariette cut in: "He's quite a bit older than Joanna. He's Head of the Department of Magical Cooperation."

With a sickening feeling in her gut, Hermione realized her friend was promised in a traditional, arranged Pure-blood marriage. _ All to keep their Sacred Twenty-Eight pure_, she thought despondently. _ Poor Joanna – or anyone who didn't get to decide who they'd spend their life with! _

"Do you like him?" Hermione said slowly, giving Joanna a searching look.

"He's ok,” her tiny friend shrugged, black curls bouncing around her head, her cheeks blushing red from the cold. “Mum and Dad could have picked worse. As Mariette said, he's older than me, by nineteen years, but I've known him all my life. Really, I'm ok with it, Hermione, just relax. I know what you're thinking – this is an absurd tradition, but Mortucan is a good man."

_Mortucan. He'd be an Avery_, Hermione thought. At the Slug Club, she had met a few officials from his department, and they spoke highly of him. _ But still, this was a Death Eater family in the future. Would Joanna's future children grow up to be Death Eaters? _Hermione shivered.

Joanna smiled wistfully, and patted her shoulder, like it was Hermione that needed comfort. "That's life for a Pure-blood, Hermione. You should be pleased to get the opportunity to make your own choice. For instance, Tom wouldn't have been eligible for you if your parents were here. Though, they'd probably be more progressive as they eloped themselves, right?"

Hermione almost snorted. _ Making my own choice, right! Tom Riddle certainly hadn't been on top of her wish list. Still, she felt a little bad for lying to her friends about her parents. But she needed everyone to believe she was a Pure-blood to survive in Slytherin. _

Looking at Mariette, she demanded: "Are you engaged, too?"

Mariette shook her head. "I'm not a Sacred Twenty-Eight, as you know. I'll be able to make my own choice, though us not being rich will limit my options. In all likelihood, I'll marry a hard-working Ministry official or shop-owner, there'll be no Department Heads or successful businessmen for me. I could marry a Half-blood, as long as he's well-to-do. A poor Half-blood like Tom would be absolutely out of the question for my parents."

_ " _So," Hermione said slowly, "You're actually telling me that almost none of the girls in school would be allowed to marry Tom?"

The two girls shared a look. "Yes," Joanna said. "All the girls may adore him, but none will commit to him in the end. He knows that all he can be is a temporary, fun fling, for all his good looks, superior skills and intelligence. He's just not reckoned as good enough for marrying a Pure-blood girl."

_ Oh. Now she actually felt sorry for him. _In a world like this, no wonder he got obsessed with blood status. He had to have developed a massive inferiority complex. She had lived in this time for half a year, not even realizing how severely blood status would limit one's options, and suddenly, she felt lucky. 

She made her own choices, even the one where she went along with pretending to be his girlfriend. Her choice was made for the Greater Good, though he forced her hand, but it was still _ her _ choice. He could be acquainted with powerful and mighty Pure-bloods and move in their social circles, be respected for his prowess and build a power base for himself, but he would never be good enough to become a part of their families – at least, not unless he revealed himself as Slytherin's Heir. And that was probably out of the question for the time being, after Myrtle's death and the petrifaction of other students.

"I imagine he's rather happy about you showing up," Joanna said, and Hermione snapped out of her musings.

"I beg your pardon?" she said, squinting at Joanna. _ Not her friends, too – Slughorn was bad enough! _

"Oh, you're a Pure-blood without family and ties, free to do as you will, you're beautiful and the cleverest witch in school – and you're his girlfriend. You've got to be a dream come through for him. Mariette and I have actually a bet going on when he's going to pop the question." Joanna and Mariette both giggled a little wickedly.

Hermione gave an incredulous snort. "I'll go with _ never_. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. He's not going to marry _ anyone_, and he wouldn't want to either, I can tell you that for sure. The very idea is preposterous!"

They entered the village, and people crowded the streets, putting an end to their discussion. Hermione told them: "I'll start at the bookshop, and I might spend quite a lot of time there. See you at the Three Broomstick in an hour?"

"Ok", Mariette said, and the two girls went off in the direction off Zonko's.

Xxxx

After leaving the bookshop, Hermione felt pleased. She had found something that just might be a perfect gift, and then she spotted three tall figures walking in her direction.

Tom, Abraxas and Sebastian met her in the middle of Hogsmeade's main street. The two other boys nodded a friendly greeting, while _ he _lifted Hermione up, twirled her around into the air, before giving her a big kiss. She laughed a little breathlessly, looking up at him, as she grabbed hold of his shoulders. His hair had fallen into his eyes again, the cold air had given him rosy cheeks, and his eyes glittered at her, for once filled with joy. It made her smile, and their eyes met for a long time until Abraxas cleared his throat.

"Seeing as the two of you will be out here for the rest of the afternoon, I suggest Sebastian and I get a head start on the Firewhisky."

"We'll be joining you," Tom said decisively, "it's much too cold to be standing outside." But the glance he shot at Abraxas made the tall blonde wince slightly.

"Mariette and Joanna will be on their way shortly, we need to make space for them too," Hermione said as they walked up to the pub.

"Of course," Tom said gallantly, "I think Sebastian will jinx anyone to hold a seat for Mariette." 

His grin was a little sly, and Sebastian only grunted in response, not meeting Hermione's questioning stare.

As they entered the crowded pub, Mariette waved at them from the counter. "Joanna's holding seats in the back," she told them. "Might be a tight fit, we've only got five chairs."

"Go ahead, I'll get you a Butterbeer," Tom said to Hermione, before he leaned down, whispering: "Or how about a Firewhisky to chase the cold? If you dare, that is." His lips trailed lightly over her earlobe, making her shiver.

Raising to the bait, she replied: "I'll have the whisky, please." She immediately regretted it, realizing that she'd become a little drunk. _ And that wasn't sensible. Not at all. _

Looking around, she saw that all other chairs were occupied, except for the seats Joanna had claimed. Hermione realized that one in their group would have to stand – or else someone would have to sit on someone's lap. And she knew who that would be, seeing as there was only one couple among them. Not wanting a repeat performance of the Slug Club, she tried to conjure an extra chair, but failed.

"That won't work,” Abraxas said laughingly. "It's a security measure in case of fire. If patrons were allowed to conjure chairs or expand the building magically, pub owners would have virtually no control over the amount of customers and the potential clogging of escape routes."

Hermione saw the rationality of the explanation, but on the inside, she grumbled. _ Stupid wizarding regulations, allowing any number of dangerous activities without concern for anyone’s safety, and when she, for one single instance needed something, the regulations were suddenly in place hindering her in conjuring a simple chair. _

So, as Tom turned up with two snifters of Firewhisky, she rose from her chair, letting him have the chair and pull her down in his lap.

"Cheers, Hermione," he said as they clinked their glasses.

"We were talking about weddings earlier," Joanna began, and Hermione felt herself stiffen. _ Had her friend lost her mind? She couldn't start a conversation about that! _Joanna went on: "As you know, I'm engaged to Mortucan Avery, and the wedding will probably be sometime next autumn. I hope all of you will be there." 

Hermione felt herself sink down into his lap, back into his body by sheer, simple, giddy relief. He put his arm around her, holding her tightly to him.

"Tom and Hermione, the two of you will of course be invited as a couple," Joanna continued. "So, Sebastian and Mariette, you're free to bring partners too."

Mariette laughed. "If there is anyone by that time, that is. I hope you'll invite me if I'm still single?"

Hermione noticed that Sebastian got an odd look on his face, his mouth turning down at the corners, before Abraxas said with a malevolent glance at him: "You'll have to babysit your fiancée, then, Sebastian. How old is she now? Ten?"

"She'll be eleven next year," Sebastian snapped. "I see no reason at all why she'd go, unless you plan to do a children's corner, Joanna. I hope you'll let me be there on my own, just like Mariette." He gave Mariette a long look, making her blush slightly.

"How about you, Abraxas," Hermione said, feeling a little irritated on behalf of Sebastian. "Are you engaged?"

"Not anymore," he said with obvious satisfaction. "I've been free since sixth grade. My ex-fiancée was acquitted from St. Mungo's last year into the care of her family. She's crazy as a bat, and marrying her was absolutely out of the question. Actually, it would be a crime, as she doesn't understand a thing that goes on around her."

"How did that come about?" Hermione said, a bit shocked by his callousness.

"Hereditary madness. Runs in the Black family. But the lovely part of this is that I get to choose. That is, if she's a Sacred Twenty-eight-witch."

"Good for you Weasley fills your requirements, then," Sebastian said bitterly. "Still, I can’t imagine your Dad will be thrilled. Let's just hope for your sake that she'll say yes on your, what will it be, fourth or fifth proposal?"

Abraxas reddened, looking angry, but Joanna interrupted: "Please, I want this to be a happy occasion. You can all come, with or without partners, engaged or not." As she finished her sentence, she arched her eyebrows at Hermione.

Hermione stared stone-faced back at her, not quite believing that her friend could allude to such an imbecile idea in his presence. Not saying a word, she downed her Firewhisky instead, feeling the burn spread down her throat.

"Another one?" he asked her.

Gritting her teeth in irritation over Joanna, she said "Yes, please."

Rising from his lap, her back suddenly felt cold without his body heat to warm her, and she shivered.

Abraxas looked after Tom's retreating form, before he turned to Hermione. "And how about you? Is there a devastated betrothed somewhere in the future, wondering if you'll ever show up again?" His smile was friendly, but his eyes were calculating.

She thought of Ron, and gave Abraxas a grimace. _ Oddly, it didn't hurt to think about Ron. It was almost like she didn't care, or didn't feel anything remotely resembling love for him anymore. Like it all had happened to another person. _

"No," she said curtly. "And besides, people rarely marry at such a young age as in this time, and everyone can choose for themselves." _ Come to think of it, she wasn't sure that just anyone would be welcomed at Malfoy Manor as Draco's wife, but she was reasonably sure that neither him nor the other Slytherin Pure-bloods of her day had been engaged since childhood. _

"So how do you preserve the family?" Abraxas said, clearly shocked.

"By choice, of course. Pure-bloods still marry Pure-bloods, but the parents keep out of it. Mostly." She gave Abraxas a cold smile to match her stare. _ Really, she could tell him all sorts of interesting things about the future, and the one thing he had ever asked her about was Pure-blood-related. _

As Tom returned with another round of whisky, she snuggled into his lap again, burrowing into him.

He laughed a little, sounding both surprised and pleased. "Are you cold?" Lowering his voice, he said: "Or drunk?"

"Both," she replied.

Xxxx

The next morning, she had a hangover, and a vague memory of a very embarrassed sixth year prefect, Melony Prewett, politely asking the Head Boy if he really thought that making out like that was setting a good example for the younger students. 

_ Oh no, _ she groaned, remembering that his hands had been everywhere as they lay on the dungeon's only sofa. _ Him cupping her breasts, kissing her upper chest, licking her throat, stroking her thighs as he lay between her legs, holding himself up on one arm… Merlin! _The only acceptable part of this was that they both had kept their clothes. She hid her head in her hands as she sat up in her bed.

"Oh, good morning," Walburga thrilled at her. "Did you enjoy yourself last night? It certainly seemed so to the rest of Slytherin. If Tom wasn't Head Boy, the two of you would probably get a detention lasting a month. Honestly, can't the two of you find just find yourselves an abandoned classroom?"

"Shut up," Hermione growled darkly, feeling as if her head would split. She fumbled after her wand with shaking hands, muttering “_ Cephala Vincam,” _ pointing at her temple _ . _As her headache momentarily cleared, she scowled at Walburga. Seeing both Mariette and Joanna fighting a silent laugh at the exchange, she left for the bathroom. As she closed the door, roars of laughter broke out on the other side.

Xxxx

At breakfast, he seemed to be quite pleased, kissing her on the head and slinging his arm around her shoulders. She drank her tea in silence, pretending not to notice the sniggers from the rest of Slytherin. As the owls swooped in, she was surprised to get a large envelope, of course landing in the middle of the marmalade on her toast.

_ It was just that kind of morning, _ she thought. Giving the tawny owl a Knut, she quickly gave up on scraping off the marmalade, instead opening the letter. The parchment was expensive, and with the insignia of the Ministry. Her breath hitched, and Tom leaned to look over her shoulder.

_ Ministry of Magic _

_ Educational Office London, 20 December 1944 _

_ Dear Miss Granger. _

_ After deliberating your numerous letters on the subject of making Householding Spells an elect course at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Educational Office at the Ministry of Magic will hold a hearing on 8 January. You are invited to the hearing, and may prepare an appeal of no more than ten minutes. The hearing will be held in Courtroom five, at 1200 am. Since we are informed that you have no legal guardian, you may bring one person of your own choice as your advisor. _

_ After the hearing, the Educational Office will consider your proposal as well as the arguments for upholding Householding as a mandatory course. We expect to make a final decision by March 1945. _

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Mervillion Nott _

_ Head of Office _

_ Yes! Finally something to brighten this morning, _she thought. "I got a response to my letters!" she said out loud, and Tom kissed her cheek.

"Well done, making the Ministry interested!" he said, his voice tinged with a touch of envy. "Who will you choose as your advisor?"

She could tell he wanted the opportunity, but she wasn't so sure about that. Her first thought had been Dumbledore, as he already was sympathetic to her cause. But, would it seem strange to pick another teacher than her own Head of the House? And she really didn't want to bring Slughorn. "I'll have to think about that," she said, kissing him lightly.

Xxxx

With Gryffindors scowling at her, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs sighing at the wonderful "romance" between the lovable Head Boy and the clever girl from the future, and now all of Slytherin sniggering behind her back because of their drunken make-out session, Christmas break was a relief.

She had tried to suggest that Tom could visit his newly inherited house during Christmas. That would leave his dorm free for her to explore the wards, but he just laughed at her. "What? Missing out on my last Hogwarts Christmas? Never. This is my home, Hermione."

Standing on the platform to wave their friends goodbye, the Hogwarts Express puffed large amounts of grey steam into the clear, blue skies. Both Hermione and Tom goggled just like the rest of the school did as Abraxas Malfoy kissed Muriel Weasley. The kiss was long, deep and passionate, and it clearly wasn't their first kiss. Then Muriel and Abraxas split up, joining their separate group of friends on the train. 

Muriel's younger brother Septimus yelled after her: "Muriel, I'm telling Mum and Dad! You can't kiss a _ Malfoy!" _His voice was laden with shock, reproach and disgust.

"Oh shut up, Septimus, you're such a baby," Muriel said, flicking her glorious red hair over her shoulder. "You keep quiet, or I'll tell them about your little dueling trips to the Forbidden forest with Fleamont Potter and Josper Trewellyn. Can you imagine what Mum would say to that? The school governors will never hear the end of it. I expect she'd shut down Hogwarts!"

"I've never…," Tom said almost inaudibly to himself. "Wonder if Abraxas did something to help her along?"

"What?" Hermione said sharply. "Like a love potion?"

He blinked, obviously not realizing that he had spoken out loud. Then he shrugged. "Maybe, but his Imperius is coming along nicely too."

_Coming along nicely?_ _Was he training his friends in the Dark Arts?_ Well, Hermione figured, they had to do something on those "meetings" she had heard about. Out loud she said: "You mean in the lesson with Professor Merryweather, or has he been practicing illegally?"

"Practising, of course. Most of you didn't manage the casting very well in the lesson." He looked straight at her, and she met his stare. Inside, she whooped. _ He told her something about his darker activities! _

She held his gaze as she replied, trying not to lace her words with any judgement: "I guess not. Practice is always the essence of mastery, isn't it? She didn't seem compelled, though. Either Abraxas has become an expert, or he had help. Or maybe he simply fed her a potion."

"Or," he said even more softly, his eyes boring intently into her face, "she kissed him of her own free will."

Xxxx

Everything had been alright, until she woke up Christmas morning by him sitting on her bed in his pyjamas.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione," he purred.

"What are you doing here!" she gasped in shock, looking wildly around in the empty dorm. _ Of course he looked smashing in his Slytherin-green pyjamas, but she idly wondered how much time he had spent on his hair. It looked perfect as always. _

"Spending Christmas morning with my girlfriend, of course. Isn't that what people do at Christmas – being with their loved ones?" He leered at her, his eyes darting over her form hidden by her covers. "I have a treat for you. Warm chocolate and biscuits, fresh from the kitchen."

With a fair amount of surprise, she saw that he had a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate with biscuits. "Thanks…" she said a little hesitantly, taking the mug he offered her. The chocolate was lovely, with copious amounts of whipped cream. It warmed her and made her feel better, and she thought about Professor Lupin and his belief that chocolate would make you feel better after confronting Dark creatures. _ But does it work on Voldemort too? _she wondered whimsically to herself.

"Here's your present," he said, giving her something that looked suspiciously like a book.

"Thanks, here's yours," she said – handing him another gift-wrapped book. She had fretted over his present in Hogsmeade, before she stumbled across this gem. First, she had a long discussion with herself _ if _she should give him a present at all. When she had decided to do so, the choice of which book to buy was equally difficult.

"Hmm, do you think we've bought the same book for each other?" he said playfully, as he tore the wrappings off his present.

"It would surprise me," she said, unwrapping her present slowly and carefully.

He whistled. "My, my! Theodor Tengus' infamous work _ The Dark Potions and Potioneers of the Renaissance _! Thanks, Hermione! This is really something. And," he gave her a searching glance, "thanks for noting my… field of interest. I hope it isn't that obvious to everyone."

"No, it isn't," she mumbled, "but I rather thought you might like this. And wow!" She was speechless as she looked at her present. A soft, bluish glow emanated from the book, with circling stellar constellations on the cover. "Norman Beyerts' _ Ancient Runes – a Stellar History _! I've only read about this book - it's supposed to be so rare! Thanks!" she breathed, looking at her gift in wonder.

Sharing a happy smile and a look that lasted only a moment too long, Hermione was the first to break off the eye contact.

"Ahem," she croaked, putting down her book and taking another sip of her cocoa.

"You have spilled a little chocolate," he said, voice silky, taking her mug out of her hands, setting it aside on the nightstand. Leaning down to her, a predatory look in his eyes, he licked the corner of her mouth, moving to her lips, and then slanting his mouth over hers. She tried to pull away, feeling more than a little nervous by being kissed by him _ in bed, in her empty dorm_. _ Could she trust herself to stop? _

He pinned her down to the mattress with both hands on either side of her, deepening the kiss. Weighing her down with his body, he moved from her mouth to kissing her throat and neck, licking and biting her as she shivered. _ Oh Merlin, did I shiver because I'm nervous, or is he really turning me on? _

He must have cast a wordless charm, because suddenly all the buttons on her nightdress flew open, leaving her chest bare. Giving a satisfied grunt, his hand cupped one of her breasts, making her nipple stiffen. Panicking, she lost control over her body, and to her deep shame, she _ moaned _ when he rolled her nipple with his fingertips. But as he lifted up the covers and crept underneath, closing his lips around her nipple, sucking it, she tried to push him off. Her body arched up to meet his mouth, lost in the pleasant sensation, but her mind was screaming: _ This is Voldemort, you fool! Make him stop! He tortured you, he will try to kill you in the future – you can't let him, even though you want to! _

"Please," she begged, "please, we can't do this. Don't do this to me, don't make me."

Licking at her breast, he glanced at her face. His dark eyes were fogged with lust, and she felt a strong, unbidden jolt of desire, almost making her come undone. Letting go of her, he said hoarsely: "I need this, and I know you want this too, Hermione. I can feel it. But since it's Christmas, I'll play nice. Give me your hand. The least you can do is to relieve me."

He guided her hands down to his erection, and she felt him strain against his pyjamas pants. _ Too big, _ she thought_. Too long and so thick, it will never fit me. And Merlin, this should not make me wet. It shouldn't! _He pulled his pants down, guiding her hand to stroke him, showing her how to rub the head, spreading little droplets of precum over the soft, shining tip. 

She watched in fascination as the color shifted from pinkish to a deeper purple, and she could feel him swell and harden even more as he bucked into the mattress. Her own heart was beating furiously, and she rubbed her thighs together, trying to relieve the growing, tickling and burning sensation between her legs. 

He panted heavily, and to her mixed horror, shame and delight he groaned: "Hermione, you are mine," as he came, cock pulsing in her hands. His sticky release covered her hands, and she felt a fleeting desire to taste it, before disgust with herself overwhelmed her. _ She made the man she was plotting to kill come. _

Stretching languorously, he kissed her: "You don't know what you're missing out on." Vanishing his seed, he pulled her into his arms, and she rested her head on his broad chest, listening to the thunder of his heartbeat. After a little while, his breathing became regular and she understood he had fallen asleep. Staying awake, her thoughts churned: _ I just made the Dark Lord come. Now he'll expect more. And Merlin help me, I want it too. _

Xxxx

At Christmas dinner, the few teachers and students that stayed at Hogwarts sat at the same table. The Great Hall was festive, with a light drizzle of magical snow, Christmas trees with glowing baubles in the corners, and the stars twinkling overhead in the enchanted ceiling.

"Can you please pass me more of the gravy, Miss Granger?" Professor Barness said.

Hermione smiled politely and mechanically at her teacher, passing her the gravy boat. _ Apparently, her teacher hadn't heard about the Ministry hearing, yet. Or, she pretended not to. _Hermione didn't mind, as far as she was concerned, there was no need to discuss this during Christmas dinner.

"The House-elves surely outdid themselves," Slughorn boomed. "Did you give them a hand, Mathilda, or should I say a wand?" The Professor chuckled at his own joke, his belly shaking with laughter.

"I did indeed," the Householding professor replied with a modest smile.

"Yes, I thought this had a certain flair. A woman's touch is what every house needs, don't you think Tom, m'boy?" Slughorn continued, winking at Riddle, swilling his glass of ruby red wine.

Hermione felt her stomach clench. _ Oh no, Slughorn wouldn't repeat his stupid idea of hers and Tom’s future relationship, would he? _

To her amazement, Tom said: "I think you're right, Professor. Every married man should consider himself lucky."

She almost gaped at him, before realizing that he was simply acting – again.

"How fortunate that none of you are promised, being able to make you own choices," Slughorn continued, smiling merrily at them. "So many of our young Slytherins has to reconcile themselves with choices their families made when they were still in the crib. Far be it from me to criticize a time-honored tradition, but there are those that would have chosen differently, if the choice was up to them."

She shut her eyes, hard. _ This was not happening. Again. _

"I'm so happy you chose to work diligently in my class, Miss Granger. You will do just fine in your marriage, I can tell," Professor Barness chimed in. 

Sharing a knowing look with Slughorn, the woman continued: "Maybe young Mr. Riddle had something to do with it? Householding _ is _rather useful, and I expect you'll find out soon enough, my dear."

Feeling as Christmas dinner had turned into a nightmare, Hermione felt herself switch between paling and reddening cheeks, not daring to answer, lest she'd make a scene and _ yell _ at her teachers for being so inherently stupid.

"Oh, I rather think Hermione might be wasted in a kitchen, Professor Barness, with a brilliant mind like that," Riddle said smoothly. "Though I daresay even she has to eat and clean." He flashed Barness his signature smile, and the teacher smiled at him, nodding happily.

Hermione hadn't yet decided if she wanted to thank him or scream at him, when he leaned into her and whispered, chuckling: "You'd be wasted in the kitchen, perhaps, but not in my bed."

She quickly drew away, eyes shooting daggers at him, and furiously made herself chew her turkey, no saying anything. _ He's making fun of me. He knows this would piss me off to no end. Don't rise to his bait. Don't. _His low chuckle kept on, driving her almost crazy.

Xxxx

"This place is a mess, Hermione. Why don't you clean it up?" 

He was lounging in one of the more comfortable chairs in the Slytherin dungeon, his lazy smile goading her.

Her eyebrows furrowing, she spluttered: "What?!"

Cocking an eyebrow at her, he said: "You're the one who had the opportunity to learn all the Householding spells. Didn't Barness tell you, that in this day and time, it's the woman's responsibility to keep the house?"

He was making _ fun _of her, she was quite sure. Still, she got irritated. Besides, he was right, at least in part: The Common Room was messy, but it wasn't as if she felt any responsibility to clean it up. Apart from the two of them, there were other Slytherins using the room too. 

Then he continued, a wide grin on his face:

"And as you actually _ do _ live in this time, you have to play the part. Don't you know that the Slytherin girls take turns to clean the Common Room as practice, not letting the house-elves do the cleaning? I guess they've left you out of the rooster since you have been such a failure in that course."

"I'm not a failure," she growled, his words touching a sore point – her Boggart being McGonagall telling her about her _ failure_. _ She was Hermione Granger - she didn’t fail anything. Period! _"I just didn't find it worth my time!"

"Yeah, I heard you've been improving. But still, the dungeon needs cleaning. Chop, chop!" He was clearly gloating over his success in riling her up, his dark eyes glittering at her with wicked amusement.

She squinted angrily at him, throwing a couple of cleaning spells around her. He had to duck for cover as a large, green-tasseled pillow sailed straight at his head, landing on the chair behind him, and then threw himself out of his seat as a tornado gathering rubbish conveniently made its swirling path through the spot where his head had been moments earlier.

Moving over to her, he said: "Finished? It looks so much better already. Who would know that you would be such a good little housewife, Hermione?" 

He put his arms around her, dragging her down on his lap in another chair before she could hex him. "Why don't we continue this little roleplay of domestic bliss further? There are any number of things I would like to do to my _ obedient, _ little housewife. You know, let's say you really, _ really _ wanted to please your husband…".

She made a face at him, deeply disturbed by him referring to marriage too. He kissed her throat, but she snorted indignantly, pulling herself free.

Stalking away, she was accompanied by his laughter. She stopped, turning around to shake her finger at him: "Tom Riddle, I'm _ not _ housewife material!" He collapsed in his chair, laughing even harder at her discomfort and anger.

Xxxx

The meals during Christmas break were mostly enjoyable. Only a few students were left in the castle, and most of the teachers were also away. As there was only one table mixing students from all houses with staff, Hermione relished talking to other people than the usual gang of Slytherins. Though, none of the Gryffindors present would talk to her at all. A particular vicious sixth grader mouthed "S-L-U-T" and "W-H-O-R-E" to her a couple of times during breakfast, licking his lips obscenely, and moving his hands suggestively at her.

She was still feeling incensed by the slight, taking a stroll through the grounds in the bleak December sunshine. Her breath misted, and she had wrapped a big scarf around her neck. One hand was in her pocket, and the other one was completely engulfed by a large, warm hand with long, slender fingers. _ Taking a stroll with Voldemort at Christmas, holding hands. It honestly was absurd, but then again: This was her new normal, _she thought. 

Then it hit her on a whim: He _ was _ , after all, Voldemort, though he pretended otherwise most of the time. _ Maybe he could be useful, too _?

"This boy from Gryffindor," she began, "he insulted me at breakfast."

"Which one was that?" His voice was casual, but she felt him tense beside her. 

"Big fellow, I think he's on their Quidditch team as Keeper, brown hair. His name might be Jennings or something like that.”

"What did he do?"

"He called me names. ‘Slut’ and ‘whore’, and he made obscene gestures." She looked at him, seeing colour rising in his cheeks, and he gripped her hand harder.

He stopped, turned to her, saying tonelessly: "Don't worry about it." Leaving her outside, he walked at a brisk pace towards the castle.

She had no idea what Tom did to the boy, but the sixth grader didn't show up for lunch. At dinner the boy averted his eyes from her completely, being pale and drawn. He hunched over, sometimes touching his belly gingerly, obviously in pain. When his Gryffindor friends asked if there was anything wrong with him, he just said: "I overindulged, ate too many sweets. Don't worry," but his eyes twitched to Tom.

She was a little ashamed of her _ oh so Slytherin- _actions, but also oddly pleased by her revenge, giving Tom a long kiss in public by way of thanks after dinner. The gleam in his eyes told her he knew the reason why, and he whispered: "It's my pleasure. Do tell me if there's anyone else bothering you. I had no idea this turned you on," giving her a small, wicked smile.

Xxxx

She had thought long and hard about his birthday present. Early on the morning of New Year's Eve, she entered his dorm room, waking him up.

"Happy birthday," she said softly to him, as he lay sleeping in his bed. Somehow he looked so innocent, lying on his side cuddling his covers. But waking up a dark wizard had its repercussions. In a second she was pinned to the bed by his weight, his wand at her throat.

"Blimey, Tom," she whined. "I only wanted to say happy birthday!"

His dark, sleepy eyes showed bafflement, and he said slowly: "Hermione? Why are you here?"

"To congratulate you on your _ birthday_, you moron," she gritted out. "Now get your wand off me!"

He rolled off her, sitting up in bed. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to people waking me up."

"I can see that," she said scathingly. "It's a miracle your dorm mates are still alive." Pulling herself up, she tried to normalize her voice. "So, here it is. Happy birthday!" She dumped his large, lumpy, soft present unceremoniously at him, hands still shaking.

"For me?" he said wonderingly, something strange coming to light in his eyes.

"Yeah, for you! That's what people do – giving each other gifts at birthdays," she said. _ Sometimes, she had to wonder if he really was that smart. _

"Thank you. Actually, this is my first birthday present. Ever."

She gaped at him. "No one gave you presents before?"

"No one at Hogwarts knows when my birthday is. Which makes me wonder, how come you know?"

"Oh." She really didn't know what to say, but settled for something safe. "Maybe you told others about it in the future. At least, I knew."

He unwrapped the package, rolling out the length of it. "A green, knitted scarf?" He was obviously nonplussed, and then he asked a little hesitantly: "Did you… knit this yourself?"

"Yes!" she said with pride. "That's about the only Householding thing that I can do without making a fool of myself. Now check it for spells!" She almost bounced on his bed, her good mood returning.

He looked carefully at the scarf, tapping it with his wand. "A Warming charm, that extends to the entire body? And it seems to stop wind and rain too. No wait, it's a shield, it also stops incoming curses and hexes! Hermione, is this a full body shield camouflaged in a scarf?"

"Yes," she said, pleased that he had figured it out. "It's knitted into the scarf, so you don't have to hold a shield yourself." As she gauged his reaction, her smile wavered.

"And why would you think I need a body shield, Hermione?" he said softly. "After all, I'm in school, living safely here at Hogwarts, not being subjected to any dangers. What do you know about the future me that make you give me a present like this? It's not that I don't appreciate it, because I do, especially the fact that you took the time to make it yourself, but I do wonder."

Closing her eyes for a moment, she took her time answering. When she did, her voice was uncertain. "It's because I know that wherever you are, strife and trouble will follow. You will need to shield yourself, and you will be in danger. A lot. The very fact that I made this, might have changed the outcome of some things. But to be honest, I don't know all that much about your early life."

"My early life? _ When _exactly are you born, Hermione?"

Her eyes meeting his, she whispered the truth, almost involuntarily: "1979."

He drew a quick, sharp breath, giving away his shock: "I'm 53 years older than you!"

"Yes. But not in this time." _ I must stop this, I can't give away more facts, _ she thought. Leaning forward, she kissed him by way of distraction. He grunted, shifting on the bed, grabbing hold of her and deepening the kiss. After a while, he freed himself, saying a little hopefully: "And do you have anything else in mind as a _ present _ for me?"

She had been prepared for a question like that, meaning to turn it down. But something about the vulnerability in his surprise by getting his very first birthday present, made her change her mind on the spot. _ This is a bad idea, Hermione, it’s the worst idea you’ve ever had! _No matter her inner admonishing, she decided to go through with it. _Something inside her wanted to do this. _

"Yes," she said, pushing him back on the bed. Pulling down his pyjamas, she freed his already hard cock, taking it in her hand. Giving him a long glance, she leaned her head down and slowly licked his length. He froze, inhaling sharply. Experimentally she continued, letting her tongue play around his head. The taste was salty, a little bitter and with a muskiness she couldn't quite define.

His hands came down on her head, treading fingers into her hair. "It's so good," he groaned hoarsely. "Take me into your mouth, suck on me."

She smiled against his twitching cock, opening her mouth for him and letting him in. Slowly she bobbed her head up and down on his shaft, testing for herself how far she could take him in without it becoming unpleasant. He obviously wanted her to do it faster, pulling her head up and down in an increasing pace. She tried licking his tip simultaneously, and from his grunts she figured it worked just fine. 

Suddenly feeling him swell up, she pulled away, letting her hands stroke him over the edge. He panted heavily, thrusting upwards, and this time she made herself look at his face. _ Oh, it was lovely. His features contorted by ecstasy, a red blush on his pale cheeks, and then he moaned her name as he spasmed. _

She sat back on her knees, smiling at him, ignoring the way her own body had heated up in a needy response. "Happy birthday, again," she whispered.

Xxxx

In the common room that night, after the New Year's dinner, she sat in the only sofa, her legs resting on a chair in front of her. The fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, filling the room with a greenish light. _ Strange, _ she thought, _ now the color is soothing, and the first time I saw the green fire, it was just eerie. _

His head was in her lap, and she was combing her finger slowly through his hair. His eyes were closed, and his expression showed that he basked in the sensation.

"What are your New Year's resolutions?" she asked him, loving the feel of his silky hair between her fingers.

"One step closer to world domination," he said, his voice almost purring contentedly.

She snorted. _ That had to be the honest truth, coming from him. _"Apart from the obvious, what do you plan to do after Hogwarts?"

"You tell me. You're the one who knows what will happen." He opened his eyes, smiling lazily at her.

She looked at him, mesmerized by the sensuality in his expression. Swallowing, she said: "I can't tell you, you know. Besides, I don't know any details." On a whim, she added: "I think, however, that you didn't do as everyone expected from someone like you."

"Oh? And what do people expect from someone like me?"

"Pursue a career in the Ministry, for example."

He looked at her with some surprise. "I didn't have a career?"

"No," she said, being surprised herself. "Are you planning to?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "Depends on how my plans evolve, but I would think, at least right now, that a career might be a possible path. What are you going to do after Hogwarts?"

She snorted again. "Find work. That is, if someone is willing to hire a girl, at that. If not, I'll be out of money."

He looked at her, thoughtfully, but he only said: "You'll probably find work, they'd be stupid not too. But then again, they ARE stupid. Don't worry, we'll call in favours if need be."

"What do you mean by that?"

He gave her a smile, saying: "Slytherins protect each other. What do you really want to do, Hermione?"

_ Her mind flew through her options. Killing him, returning to the future and a vastly different world from the one she knew, a world without Lord Voldemort and the wizarding wars… _But none of those options were viable to tell him.

"I want to create a magical university in Britain," she replied at last.

His eyebrows rose. "Imagine that, researching deep magic at a university, teaching students... It's actually a brilliant idea, Hermione!"

"Yes," she said, sighing, thinking about magical Sorbonne, the only wizarding university in Europe.

If you had Outstandings only from Beauxbaton, you could attend with a reasonable fee or a scholarship. If you were filthy rich, you could attend with Outstandings only from Hogwarts or Durmstrang, but the fee for attending was insurmountable, and no scholarships were offered outside Beauxbaton graduates.

"Did you know," he said, "there hasn't been an English wizard at Sorbonne for over 400 years? No one has been able to make both the grades and the fee."

"That's what I'd like to change," Hermione said. "I would have scholarships, only letting the best and the brightest attend, no matter how little money they had."

"Yes. But you'd need to go to Sorbonne yourself before doing that. Or else, the education you would offer wouldn't be university level."

"I know. Or else, I could start small, with the usual, British way with an apprenticeship to a powerful wizard or witch, and then gathering teachers who had the same education, building up the University," she replied.

"Think about it: A mastery usually takes at least five years, ten for most people, while you can get to the same level at Sorbonne in three. To study with the best teachers, getting a chance to really prove yourself," he said dreamily. 

Then he sat up, looked at her with a mischievous smile: "You and me, studying in Sorbonne, living in Paris, learning all there is about magic. I bet we would be top students. Which subjects would you choose?"

"I would have preferred Arithmancy, but since that isn’t an option, I’d go with Charms," she answered, smitten by his enthusiasm. "I love Charms and Ancient Runes. How about you?"

In her mind, she suddenly got vivid images of herself, with him, walking arm-in-arm in the Latin Quarter, entering the beautiful stone plaza at the gates of Sorbonne, seeing the awe on the faces of other, nameless students as _ he _ talked, the two of them experimenting on a potion, drinking coffee on a café, and – _ she blushed _ – entwined naked in bed in a loft studio. _ She realized, this was his fantasy, and he placed it in her brain. _

Eyes glittering at her, he said: "You know what Sorbonne is famous for. The Dark Arts."


	12. Unforgivable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I may have gone after you for the wrong reasons, Hermione," he purred, nuzzling her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a scene which was in the very first drafts of the story, where Tom confronts Hermione on the Unforgivables. It's still one of my own favorite scenes in the story. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3

Professor Dumbledore had been away for the Christmas holidays, and Hermione sought him out immediately after his return.

"Professor," she said anxiously, standing on the doorstep of his office, "I need to speak with you, if you're not too busy."

Dumbledore turned around from unpacking his suitcase, and Hermione was struck by how tired, heartbroken and distressed he looked. She could almost swear that his brow had gotten more creases and wrinkles since before Christmas.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting something…" her voice faltered.

Dumbledore sighed, and said gently: "This is as good a time as ever, Miss Granger. Do come in. Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please," she replied, seating herself in the chair across his desk, while Dumbledore conjured a steaming, blue-striped teapot and a tea set with two mugs, milk and sugar. He poured tea into her mug, gesturing for her to help herself to milk and sugar.

"What would you like to discuss, Miss Granger?" he said patiently, lowering himself into his chair with a barely visible wince.

Hermione blurted out: "What happened to you, Professor? You look like you're in pain. Can I help you in any way?"

He smiled and shook his head. "No, but thanks anyway, Miss Granger. I visited an old friend at the continent during the holidays, and, needless to say, we found that we've fallen out for good, to the point of no return. These things are never pleasant."

"Ok," Hermione said slowly, realizing that this friend had to be Grindelwald. _ He defeated Grindelwald in 1945_, she thought. _ The duel is yet to come – we're barely into '45. _Gathering herself she said: "You seemed sympathetic to my cause to make Householding spells an elect course. The Ministry has asked me to a hearing on 8 January. I can bring an advisor, and I wondered, would you be my advisor, Professor?"

Dumbledore's eyes lit up, and he beamed at her: "Well done, Miss Granger! But unfortunately, though I support your take on the matter, I can't be your advisor. I told you that anything but signing my name would be troublesome, due to my loyalties to the Ministry's decrees. I suggest you find an adult witch of good social standing outside the school. That would seem weightier to some."

"Oh," she said, disappointment flashing through her. "I'm afraid I know very few people outside Hogwarts."

Dumbledore looked at her searchingly. "May I suggest Imelda Malfoy, the mother of young Abraxas Malfoy? I don't know if you're acquainted, but I can at least put in a good word for you, and you can ask your fellow Slytherin to do the same. She's quite a formidable witch, and has very strong opinions on the matter. Her support will help your cause."

Xxxx

The next morning at breakfast, Abraxas looked at her after receiving his morning post.

"My mother tell me that she's had a Floo chat with Dumbledore yesterday about your hearing. She writes that she'll be delighted to be your advisor, and I quote: ‘To put an end to that horrid subject forever and ever.’" Abraxas snorted a little with laughter, before he continued: "She's always had a soft spot for Dumbledore due to her being a Gryffindor, but still, you really didn't have to enlist her, Hermione. She'd have gone to the hearing anyway to throw roses at your feet for proposing this."

"Thanks for letting me know, Abraxas. It seemed like a far shot for me, as I've never met your mother, but I'm very pleased to hear she's accepted to be my advisor." She smiled at him, a little giddily, feeling that all the pieces were falling into place before the hearing. Still, she wondered about his mother being so excited to support her cause, because Abraxas himself had never seemed overly progressive to her.

A low voice rumbled in her ear: "Why on earth did you ask _ Dumbledore _ about this?" Turning to Tom, she noted that he looked angry. _ Oh yes, he had wanted to be the one to follow her to the hearing. No doubt for selfish reasons, promoting himself and making connections, _she thought.

Instead she said: "Oh, he's a supporter. That's why. And he suggested Abraxas' mother, saying that support from a witch from her station and with her power would strengthen my proposal and gather more followers behind the cause. I think that's a very good idea, don't you?" She gushed brightly at him, pretending not to notice his scowl.

"Power-hungry, are we?" he hissed in her ear. At that she laughed outright, such a statement being hilarious coming from _ him_, of all people. He looked a little perplexed, and she almost had to wipe her eyes before she replied: "Oh, someone from _ my _time used to say that there's only power and those too weak to seek it. Don't you agree?"

He furrowed his brow, staring at her with a chilling, calculating look. Slowly, he licked his lips, before saying: "I do agree. And further, I have a very strong suspicion of who you're referring to. Don't drop hints like that, Hermione, if you're not prepared to tell the whole story. Someone might _ make _you tell."

Her mirth was wiped away instantly, and she felt shivers race her spine.

Xxxx

Their first class in the new year was Defense Against the Dark Arts. She'd been occupied with welcoming Mariette and Joanna back to school, and they had been talking through most of the night. Under the cover of darkness, she had confessed to doing more than kissing Tom. _ Now, she regretted telling them, feeling silly for letting her mouth run off with her like that_. And he was sitting beside her, like he usually did, wreaking havoc on her concentration.

"Today's subject is the Killing Curse and the Cruciatus Curse," Professor Merrythought told the N.E.W.T. students. "Quite a start to the new year, huh? For obvious reasons, this will be a theoretical lesson. You have covered this earlier at Hogwarts, but today we're going to do a more in-depth forage into those curses. We'll be covering survival techniques if you're put under torture, and the possibilities of deflecting the Killing Curse with objects. Can any of you describe what happens when the Killing Curse is performed correctly?"

Out of habit, she raised her hand, and Merrythought nodded at her.

A little mechanically, she answered: "The incantation is ‘_Avada Kedavra,_’ and when casting it, one needs to point one's wand at the person to be killed. There are no complicated wand movements, merely a simple pointing is enough. The intent behind the curse is the most important thing, and the caster has to have a very strong intent to work the curse. Then there's a flash of green light, and… And in the moment of death, it is instantaneous. There is no last sigh, screams or movement. They are alive, and then they are simply not."

Merrythought stared at her, stared a little too long. Blinking, she realized that the last part wasn't described in the textbook. It was her _ experience _. The textbook merely said that there was no visible marks on the victims of the curse. Hermione drew in her breath, and stared down at her desk.

"Well, there's five points for Slytherin, Miss Granger. What you described is true. Maybe…" Merrythought's voice faltered a little, "maybe the textbooks are a bit different in the future."

She looked up at her professor, and saw her giving her a concerned look. But someone else was looking at her too. Tom's stare was burning at her, and his hand snaked its way under the desk to grip hers. She squeezed his hand, and withdrew from his grip.

After class, he held her back in the classroom until after the students and the Professor had left. Backing her up against the wall, he put his hands on each side of her, keeping his body close to hers.

She thought: _ If anyone saw them, it would just look like two teenagers ready to kiss each other_. But she knew he was after something else, this time.

"Have you ever performed the Killing Curse, Hermione," he asked softly, but with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"No," she lied. He arched his eyebrows at her, clearly not believing her.

"Because what you just told class must have been from experience, you cannot read up on that, Hermione," he said with intensity in his voice.

And suddenly he was _ there, _ charging into her mind looking only for memories of her casting _ Avada Kedavra_. She tried to block him out, but this time he was too strong. He found one, then two, and at last the third memory before she managed to shove him out.

Both of them breathed heavily, like they had been exerting themselves physically.

"I knew it!" he exulted. "Did you enjoy it?"

"No," she gasped, feeling horrified, "no!"

"Who were they? Two of your memories were battles, _ battles, _Hermione! But the last kill, the girl, seemed to be a deliberate and painful decision,” he said.

"She was my friend, my ally, if that's a word you can understand more easily," she replied scathingly. "And we were caught by … our enemies… with anti-Apparition wards around the house, and she was badly hurt. The only option was the Time-Turner, and that wouldn't really have helped her. She was dying, and we were on the run. It was a matter of time." She closed her eyes, feeling as if tears should be pooling in her eyes, but they were dry – again. _ Oh Ginny, how I wish things had ended differently! _

A slow whistle of breath left him. "You used her death to power up the Time-Turner, didn't you? I never knew that was possible. Hermione, you are quite ruthless. Your time travel was no accident at all. I'm impressed," he whispered. "I knew there was something about your Time-Turner, I could feel it!"

She opened her eyes, staring furiously at him. "It's the worst thing I've ever done!"

"Would you have done it again?" he asked.

"Yes. There was no other choice, though this may damn my soul," she croaked out.

"And the others, would you have repeated that?"

Hatred at what _ his _ Death Eaters had done to _ her _ world flooded, and she answered him angrily.

"Yes. And again, and again and again! They deserved what came for them!"

He chuckled, looking at her with something odd in his eyes that she couldn't quite understand. 

"Why did you come here, to this particular point in time?"

"It's none of your business," she snarled, looking quickly away.

"What about the other Unforgivable curses?" 

This time she was prepared, and slammed down the barrier of her mind before he could invade her again. _ But the memories flickered through her brain. Luna falling backwards, slowly with one arm outstretched, her limp hand dropping her wand, her eyes empty. How she herself had flung an angry “Crucio” at the Death Eater responsible, keeping it up for almost a minute, relishing his howls of pain before the horror of her actions overtook her. Then releasing him, suddenly being struck with inspiration and yelling “Imperio”, making him attack his own kind. Three more Death Eaters dead at his hand, at her command. _

She looked away from him. "Yes, Tom. Both of the curses. And it was well deserved."

"I may have gone after you for the wrong reasons, Hermione," he purred, nuzzling her hair. "You are absolutely - what was it I saw in your mind – someone calling you ‘the brightest witch of your age’. I want your memories and what you know of my future, but you are also _ dark_, Hermione. I can see it. You've wielded dark magic, and you will do it again. We can do … things … together."

Inside, she struggled with not saying aloud the words _ no, I'm not on your side, not ever_, but she forced her mouth to say nothing at all. When he leaned in for a kiss, she parted her lips eagerly for him, and shuddered at the thought that _ I'm letting Lord Voldemort kiss me, and I enjoy it. He – of all people – thinks I am dark. Maybe I am, at that. I've certainly done dark, Unforgivable magic. But how can I plot to kill him, and still enjoy his touch so much? Isn't that proof of darkness in me? _His hands traveled down to her waist, grabbing her closer, grinding into her body, and she moved against him, grinding back.

"Tom Riddle, Miss Granger! This behavior isn't acceptable, though I have to say I'm not surprised!" 

Professor Merrythought had re-entered her classroom, and stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. But her eyes were full of amusement and she looked at them fondly. _But even her_, Hermione thought, _even Merrythought obviously_ _couldn't find any fault in what Tom did, even when he was snogging in her own classroom._

"I won't give you detention, I still remember how it was like being young," she said kindly. "But the two of you should probably be more careful. Hermione, I'll speak to professor Barness. She'll make sure to give you girls _ the appropriate lesson _ as soon as possible. And Tom, you should be more concerned about setting an example for the rest of the students. Do not forget that you're the Head Boy."

Hermione stared at her nonplussed, not understanding what Merrythought was aiming at, but she smiled politely and let herself be led out of the room by him.

Xxxx

Imelda Malfoy met Hermione at King's Cross station. She was a tall, imposing figure, and so beautiful that Hermione had to blink. Her golden hair flowed almost to her hips in gentle waves. _ Not a hair out of place_, Hermione thought enviously, and her big eyes were midnight blue, centered perfectly above a straight nose and red, full lips.

"There you are, my dear," Mrs. Malfoy said warmly. "Both Professor Dumbledore and Abraxas has told me so much about you. I'm happy to assist you to make the Ministry understand that women have the right to choose their future. Getting rid of Householding spells are the first step. You've done very well so far, Miss Granger."

They Apparated to a street near the entrance to the Ministry, and Hermione felt her palms become sweaty as they entered, each presenting their wands for inspection.

"Don't worry," Mrs. Malfoy said, her eyes twinkling, "we're going to take them down. They will never know what hit them. Besides, there are so many witches that merely have been waiting for an initiative. Don't be surprised, I invited a few of my closest friends on the Wizengamot over."

They passed the Fountain of the Magical Brethren, where a witch, a centaur, a goblin and a House-elf looked adoringly up to a mighty wizard. Hermione shuddered as she remembered the splintered remains she had seen after the duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort in 1996. _ Still_, she thought, _ the fountain was both ugly, racist and sexist. Really, she didn't mind the two wizards destroying it, even though people had lamented it as a loss of a precious piece of art. She would rather have seen the duel – that would have been a piece of magic worth remembering, not the stupid fountain. _

Surprise was nonetheless an inadequate word to describe Hermione's reaction. Outside Courtroom Five, more than a hundred witches and wizards were waiting, all of them cheering as Imelda Malfoy and Hermione entered the corridor. Mrs. Malfoy waved at the spectators, and whispered to Hermione: "Smile, darling, they are all here because they're impressed with you. No pressure – you're among friends, now."

Hermione swallowed, smiling weakly at the crowd. _ Now, she understood how much Dumbledore really had helped her with getting Mrs. Malfoy to assist her with this hearing. _

She and Mrs. Malfoy were ushered into a small, dreary waiting chamber, as the doors to the courtroom opened and the mass of people filed in. Her stomach was doing somersaults, and she could hear her own heartbeat thudding. Everything seemed to slow down, and she felt like she was standing outside her own body, watching, not really being present. In slow motion, she rose from her seat as the guard beckoned for her and Mrs. Malfoy to enter the courtroom itself.

As they sat down on an uncomfortable wooden bench, the crowd cheered again, and a group of Ministry officials entered the room, a few of them scowling at the spectators.

An elderly gentleman rose, pointing his wand to his throat and cast Sonorus to enhance his voice_ . _

"Quiet!" he boomed to the crowd, smiling as the noise died down. "Today, we're gathered to hear pro and contra concerning a proposal to make Householding Spells an elect course for girls at Hogwarts. I must say, we seldom experience such a crowd on our other hearings concerning the affairs of how we educate our young. Miss Hermione Granger has written eloquently and frequently to the Ministry on the subject matter, but there are also those who oppose such a breach of our longstanding traditions. Today, we'll hear both sides. You may begin, Miss Granger."

Hermione rose slowly, feeling as her head was stuffed with wool. Mrs. Malfoy patted her arm reassuringly, and leaned back expectantly. Casting “_Sonorous_” at herself, she began her prepared speech.

Xxxx

She blinked, as thunderous applause broke through her daze. _ Was she finished already? Had she made her speech? _

"Well done! You're a natural speaker," Mrs. Malfoy enthused at her side, pulling her down on the bench. "Loud and clear, with perfect pauses, intonations and well-balanced gestures. Have you considered going into politics?"

"No, not really. Did it really turn out alright?" she replied, not really remembering what she had said or done, hoping against all odds that she had done and said what she'd been practicing before the mirror.

"More than alright, my dear! You did excellent. I'm quite sure the Ministry will be swayed." As they sat back, a grumpy-looking old witch rose, casting a scathing glance at Hermione, before she started bashing her proposal.

Xxxx

After escorting her out of the Ministry, Mrs. Malfoy took her to lunch in a rather posh restaurant in Diagon Alley, the Golden Unicorn. Hermione had never thought about there being establishments other than the Leaky Cauldron, but, she supposed, there would probably be quite a few.

"We'll have a bottle of champagne to celebrate with our afternoon tea," Mrs. Malfoy ordered the waiter. The waiter bowed, almost to his knees, and cast a wordless spell that shot a paper pigeon in the direction of the kitchen, and another that set their table with appropriate cutlery, champagne flutes and a tea set.

Another waiter came up to their table, opening a bottle of Dom Perignon and pouring a little in one glass, politely motioning for Mrs. Malfoy to taste the wine.

She sniffed at the glass, frowning. "Is this the 1936 vintage?" Taking a small sip, she declared: "Yes, that was a good year, this is a very nice champagne." As the waiter poured a glass for Hermione and filled up Mrs. Malfoy's glass, she nodded at Hermione, lifting her glass in a salute. The champagne was indeed lovely, and Hermione relished the rich taste, rolling it on her tongue as she smiled back at Abraxas’ mother.

After their food had arrived, finger sandwiches, scones with cream and cakes on a tiered server, Mrs. Malfoy smiled at Hermione.

"You have impressed a number of important people today, Miss Granger. Abraxas has told us quite a lot about you, not to wonder with your …very… interesting background, and what with your excellent grades in school. As I said, you should seriously consider a career in politics. But do tell me, what do you wish to do with your future?"

"I would like to work at the Ministry," Hermione said slowly, realizing that this might have opened doors for her that previously had been closed. "I would like to do research, but I'm also drawn to make changes to our society, especially regarding the rights of magical creatures." As she bit off a part of a finger sandwich, her eyes widened as she took in a delicious blend of matured cheddar, apricot chutney and a faint taste of woodsmoke and…Firewhisky?

"But that's just what politics are, my dear!" Mrs. Malfoy cried. "Do you want to be a clerk, providing material for those who make decisions, or do you want to be the one who makes the decisions? Politics is all about power, my darling."

"Well, I've never really thought about it that way," Hermione stuttered. "But of course, I want to make changes, so maybe…"

"Good. We do have so few, smart women that can invest their time to changing the world. Most of us are, unfortunately, bound in marriage as soon as we've completed Hogwarts. Speaking of that, I hear from Abraxas that you are quite close to his very good friend Tom Riddle."

Hermione's eyes snapped to Mrs. Malfoy, almost groaning: _ Not her, too! _

But, it appeared, she was mistaken. Mrs. Malfoy looked at her with warmth, but the words that came out of her mouth was some of the harshest Hermione had heard:

"I can understand why you can be attracted to someone with his looks and intelligence. But you do need to think about your future, not letting teenage emotions clouding your judgement. You are a Pure-blood, and it just will not do to marry a Half-blood such as he. Granted, he will be probably very successful later in his life, but still, all he is and ever will be is nothing but a Half-blood with a very questionable background. You will be a traitor to your own blood if you become involved with him, and it will hurt your career. I understand from Abraxas that you need to keep your own family in the dark as to your existence to make sure that your parents actually will end up producing you, but still, there are people who will have their doubts, thinking this to be just an inventive lie. You must not encourage such speculations, and associating with Riddle will make it worse. Do not let the filth of his half-Mudblood family taint you and destroy your future."

Xxxx

As she came back to Hogwarts that night, she found the Slytherin seventh years in the dungeon common room. She went straight over to Tom, and gave him a kiss. A long, deep one, feeling as if his tongue could cleanse her mouth from her false, polite lies to Imelda Malfoy about her involvement with him. 

_ She had never in a lifetime thought that she, Muggleborn as she was, would be told by a blood purist that she was far too good for Half-blood. Somehow, the injustice of blood prejudice didn't sit any better with her, even though the one demeaned by it this time around was the worst blood-purity fanatic of them all in the future. _

Breathlessly, he broke off the kiss, saying: "I take it the hearing went well?"

"Yes," she said. Turning to Abraxas, she said: "Your mother was very helpful. She brought over a hundred of her, errr… _ closest friends _ from the Wizengamot as support."

Abraxas laughed, and replied: "My mother is quite the politician. I think everyone on the Wizengamot is secretly happy that she can't spend all her time trying to change society."

Hermione smiled a little wickedly at him, and said: "You know, her personality reminds me of someone. I suppose you do love your mother very much?"

Abraxas looked nonplussed at her, and Hermione continued: "She really, really reminds me of Muriel Weasley." As Abraxas reddened, the rest of the Slytherins doubled up laughing.

Xxxx

As Barness swept into the classroom, her eyes shot daggers at Hermione. _ So, she's not pleased with how the hearing went_, Hermione thought. _ That bodes well for me. _But then Barness started to speak.

"Girls, we'll start this year by talking about _ family reproduction. _ I always aim to hold this lesson at the end of the year to best prepare you for your upcoming marriages, but _ every _ year, invariably, there's a very good reason for hastening this lesson. Some girls just doesn't understand the value of tradition, the duty of a woman to keep herself pure until her marriage, and then devote her life to her husband, his home and his happiness." Barness shot a glare in Hermione's direction, and she gaped, feeling her cheeks reddening.

A few of her fellow students caught on, and giggling and whispering broke out. One of the Gryffindor girls sitting close to Muriel Weasley mouthed "SLUT" at her. _ Oh sweet Merlin, was this what Merrythought referred to – family reproduction class? She bet HE didn't have to go through any public humiliation, and now every girl in the seventh year would be convinced he was fucking her. Except her two friends, but still, her reputation was thoroughly and totally ruined among her classmates. _

Barness continued, her eyes still trained on Hermione: "You will all want babies, but at times there will be many good reasons for postponing pregnancy. This can be economical concerns as to what your husband can afford, the size of your home to make room for children, you might want to have an age gap between children, or you might not want any more than, for example, three or four children. There might also be more frivolous reasons, like travelling, representing in society, or the worst reason of all: _ The two of you are not married." _

Hermione felt herself becoming beet red. _ Seriously, why am I blushing? I haven't done anything at all! _Still, she couldn't fight her embarrassment, and the giggles in the class continued.

"Today's lesson is, of course the _ Contraception charm," _Barness continued. "Before that, we will start with some information on what happens on you wedding night. Maybe you can tell us, Miss Granger, what happens on such an occasion? Do feel free to explain at length." 

She smiled rather nastily at Hermione, and the giggles in the class broke out in outright laughter.

Horrified, for the first time Hermione had absolutely no wish to answer a teacher.

Xxxx

"That was so unfair!" Mariette said with blazing eyes. "If you're not complaining, Hermione, I will, on your behalf. She literally smeared your reputation through the entire class!"

Hermione stared dully at the ground. "I agree," Joanna said. "I realize you only want to forget about this, but seriously, we can't let her get away with this."

Muriel Weasley stopped in front of her for a moment, and Hermione almost flinched, waiting for more slurs against her. But Muriel said softly, putting her hand on Hermione's arm: "That was uncalled for, Hermione. I just wanted you to know that I think this was too harsh." Then she moved on, not waiting for an answer. Hermione looked after her, feeling that _ normally_, she should have been crying. Her lips should have trembled, her eyes should have brimmed with tears, and her face should be red and blotchy. _ But it wasn't. _She only felt a throbbing anger, deep down in her stomach.

Joanna took a deep breath, saying: "I am going to owl my father. It isn't often that I call on the power my family can claim, but this is a grave matter. I will ask him to put in a motion for a replacement. And trust me," she looked imploringly at Hermione, "Barness will be out of Hogwarts by next month."

Hermione shook her head. Looking straight at her two friends, she said tonelessly: "I appreciate your concerns. And I do appreciate your offer, Joanna, because I know how hard it is for you to go against your principles of not abusing your family's power. But this is a matter for me." _ And for him, _she thought.

Xxxx

He was incredulous when she told him. "She did what?" 

For the second time, she wondered what her using her knowledge of him and his capabilities said about her own character. _ Did his evil somehow rub off on her? Because she wanted to take down Barness, and no one would do it better than him. _

"Through all the lesson," she said, sitting in his lap, leaning her head into his shoulder. "Barness asked me to explain everything, from positions, what happens when people, well … you know, how to clean up afterwards and so on. It was awful."

He was quiet for a moment, stroking her hair. They were in the library, in a secluded spot by the Restricted section. "Hermione," he began, but paused. "I haven't really asked you about this, but … were you able to _ explain _these things to Barness?"

She understood what he really wanted to know. But then again, she was in a circumspect way asking him to go against a teacher, doing what Lord Voldemort did best. He probably deserved reassuring before he went out on a limb for her.

Snuggling closer to him, she mumbled: "I know the theory, but as you probably have realized, I haven't done much. You know all there is to know about me and such things."

He exhaled, and patted her back, saying: "So, there was no intimacy with your _Quidditch_ _boyfriend_ or anyone else in the future?"

"Nothing except a few kisses," she answered. Looking up at him, she said: "Tom, I want her away from Hogwarts. She's a horrible teacher, and she insulted me and humiliated me in front of the whole class. Needless to say, now everyone in school will believe these rumours."

He nodded, his eyes hooded, before kissing her forehead. "She'll be gone before you know it. But, I want a reward. Don't worry, I won't ask for something you don't want to do anyway."

Xxxx

Two days later, Householding classes were set on a hold, as Barness had suffered a terrible accident.

Headmaster Dippet announced gravely in the Great Hall: "I know you are all concerned about her wellbeing. At the moment, she's in St. Mungos, being treated by the best Healers this country has, but the outcome is uncertain. Girls, we'll resume your classes as soon as possible, but it might take a few weeks to get a replacement. In the meantime, I suggest you revise what Professor Barness has already taught you."

Barness had, somehow, fallen from the Owlery and to the ground, hitting her head severely. No one really understood why she had been climbing around above the floor level, and how she had managed to fall out of the paneless window arches was a question for speculation. The most popular theory was that Barness' owl had been unwilling to come as she called, and that Barness had been trying to catch it.

Hermione didn't quite know how he had done it, but she knew he was responsible. She rather suspected the Imperius curse, or else a strong Confundus. But he was all about collecting his reward.

"I want to touch you," he whispered, as they were kissing in an abandoned classroom. She was sitting on a desk, and he had placed himself between her legs. His hands were touching her breasts outside her clothing, and he was breathing hard. _ They both were, _she corrected herself.

"How?" she replied.

"Underneath your clothes, I want to feel you."

She stared at him, fear, desire and her perfect plan entailing _ not _ ending up in his bed warring inside her. Swallowing, she nodded uncertaintly, and triumphant desire flared up in his eyes. _ She would have to make it work. Somehow. _

He snaked his hand underneath her skirt, moving his hand up her thigh, landing on her knickers. Cupping her mound, he curled his fingers, stroking her lightly. She gasped, and he whispered smugly: "You're soaking wet, Hermione. You are so ready for this, just like I knew you were."

She shivered, letting go of her reluctance, and a moan escaped her. He pushed his fingers underneath her knickers, trailing them along her folds, pushing in at her center. Kissing her throat, he purred into her skin: "I'll make you feel so good that you'll forget about anyone else." 

Panting, he dipped a finger just inside her, pressing at her barrier. "I can't wait to…" he stopped his growl, but she got the gist of it, squirming a little. Withdrawing his finger, his hand went to her nub, rubbing it firmly. She pressed herself against him, arching her back, breath coming in gasps, as her insides tightened and burned hot with need for him. Feeling her eyes glaze over, she thought _ Oh Merlin, I want him to take me, I want _ ** _him_ ** ** … ** And then she came undone, moaning, her abdomen squeezing rhythmically at an emptiness where _ he should have been, _and his fingers stroked her through it all.

As she opened her eyes again, he was smiling. There was a flash of something in his eyes that she wanted to describe as tenderness, but clearly, she was mistaken. It must have been pride, because he was obviously pleased with himself. 

"You moaned my name," he said. "My real name. I assume you know this from the future, as I'm quite certain no one has told you this in this time. Do we know each other in your time?"

Staring at him, she suddenly felt very afraid. _ She had said his name as she came, not Tom, but Voldemort. Was she losing her mind? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh... That's a response which Hermione might feel is a bit on the unforgivable side too...


	13. An Informal Gathering of Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breathing heavily, she felt dazed. It had to be the strongest burst of magic she'd ever experienced. And all she wanted to do was doing it again. And again. And how wrong was that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one!

Mariette brushed her hair out for the night, gently combing through her wild curls. The dorm was semi-dark, lit only by the small, glowing reading lights by the beds.

"You should always cast ‘_Recta' _before you go to bed, Hermione. It would save you so much time in the morning," she admonished. "Look how easy it is to comb out your hair now, compared to that wild tugging you're doing every night."

Hermione grumbled: "How come I spend six and a half year at Hogwarts before anyone teaches me something like this spell? Is this something everyone knows?"

"Oh," Mariette said lightly, "you might have learned it if you had been paying attention in Householding class."

The silence in the dorm became strained and heavy, the only sound coming from the bathroom, where Walburga was splashing in her bath, singing a Muggle Vera Lynn song in a distinctly off- key fashion.

Joanna turned away from her own mirror, facing Hermione and Mariette. "So, Hermione, what do you think about the Barness incident?" Mariette stilled, stopping her movements with the hairbrush.

"How about it?" Hermione said a little too quickly. "It's awful, isn't it?"

"Yes," Joanna said with finality. "The poor woman isn't going to recover her ability to neither speak nor move. It **is **awful. I really hope it was an accident."

Hermione sat still for a moment, coming to terms with the fact that Joanna was implying that Hermione might – just possibly – be involved. _ There's no way I can admit to any knowledge on this. I understand that I'm a likely suspect, but admitting it would land me in Azkaban. _

Shivering a little, she realized that a stint in Azkaban just might be well-deserved. She _ had _ orchestrated the accident, though she wasn't the perpetrator. _ And she was a despicable thing, moaning ‘Voldemort’ as she came on his fingers. Who did that kind of things? Voldemort was the snake-faced monster of her future, while she had succumbed to the handsome Tom Riddle of the past, even manipulating him into executing her revenge. But he was Voldemort too… Her body knew it, thought her mind had tried to deny it. She had let Lord Voldemort touch her intimately, and for that only, she deserved a lifetime of punishment. _

Rousing herself, she said firmly: "I hope you're not saying what I thought I heard, Joanna. Do you really think I might be behind something like that?"

"No, no, of course not," Joanna said hurriedly. "It's just that, well, you know, she was beastly to you in that class, and then this happened." Her voice lowered: "People are talking, Hermione. You should know that."

"Let them talk. I don't know how she managed to fall off the Owlery tower. After all, I did well on the hearing, right? She was just angry with me in that class. It was an awful experience, but not one to make me try to kill the poor woman," Hermione said with determination. 

Slowly, Mariette started to brush her hair again, the gentle strokes soothing her scalp, making Hermione relax into the relieved atmosphere her own lies had created, though the nagging guilt of saying his real name, as he had put it, simmered in her stomach. 

Xxxx

The next day was cold, clammy and with a thick, rolling grey fog. She was early for her Herbology lesson, waiting outside the greenhouses, escaping the dampness of the air in a small, secluded garden shed. Heating the air around her with a Warming Charm, she rested her back on a shelf, luxuriating in the finally having a moment all alone.

Hearing voices moving towards her, she drew a Disillusionment Charm over herself, not wanting to be disturbed. As the people drew nearer, she could discern that the voices belonged to Abraxas Malfoy and Sebastian Lestrange.

"He's gone all batty, there's no other word for it. Yesterday, he just laughed off Marvin Crabbe's bungled Essence of Insanity," Sebastian said firmly.

"More like Essence of Horny Hippogriffs!" Abraxas snorted. "Though, I prefer this to what he was like before Christmas. I don't know about you, but I'm not all that fond of being cursed left and right. This autumn was the worst time in my life. I swear, he Crucio'ed me ten times!"

Hermione's interest picked up. They were obviously talking about Tom – and not in a way he'd approve, she was sure.

"Bah! I think that he's gone too far in his efforts to get her," Sebastian replied. Lowering his voice, he whispered: "Actually, for all his claims to just be recruiting and bedding her, I wonder if he hasn't fallen into his own web. He spends so much time with her, and he's even stopped doing other girls, at least as far as I know."

Hermione shifted a little, feeling resentful. _ Doing other girls… If that bastard still was going after other girls, he could just forget about her, pretense or no pretense. But really, she had to agree with Sebastian. Between school, homework and her, he'd be hard pressed to find time for other girls. _

"Hmmm," Abraxas mused. "Do you really think he's capable of something like that?"

"What, falling in love? No, not really. But I think he likes her, and that's far more than he feels for anyone else, present company included," Sebastian laughed mirthlessly.

Abraxas barked a short laugh. "Right! Well, rumour says he fucks her. I, for one, am really happy if he's finally getting some, if it improves his temper. We'll see how long it lasts, before he's back to cursing us again. Well, it can't be any worse than that Centaur killing business in fifth grade. He almost killed Edmund Rosier for losing control of that Levitating Charm in the stairwell. The creature almost dropped down to the bottom, do you remember?"

The voices moved on, and Hermione felt sick. _ Killing a Centaur _ – _ it was a horrible act of violence. _ Strangely, she almost felt better about hearing about _ people _ being killed than magical creatures or animals. _ But, killing a Centaur was something she could picture only Lord Voldemort would do. She was, frankly, surprised that he had involved anyone else in doing something like that. _ As for him being, well, _ nicer _ to his followers because of her had to be just plain wrong. Though, she noted that not even his followers were sure of their relationship. For herself, she'd never be fooled into believing he had any feelings whatsoever. _ Not for her, not for anyone else, not ever. _

Xxxx

"So, what are you lot going to do after Hogwarts?" Edmund Rosier said. The Slytherin boys and Hermione were sitting in the library on a grey winter afternoon, and Edmund was morosely scribbling on his Transfiguration essay. "I, for one, am not going to ever think about Transfiguration when I'm done here."

Abraxas shrugged, and said: "Seriously? I'm going to take up my seat at the Wizengamot, and Father is going to drag me through all the details on managing the estate. Life is going to be exceedingly boring."

"Not if Muriel sticks around," Sebastian said slyly.

Abraxas reddened, and only huffed in reply.

"We're going to Sorbonne," Tom announced, creating a stunned silence amongst the Slytherins. 

Hermione gaped a little, and both Edmund and Abraxas looked back and forth between Tom and her. Sebastian blinked, and said slowly: "That is .. certainly exciting, but how are you going to get in, Tom?"

"I'm working on it, but we'll get there," Tom said confidently.

"So, you're going together, the two of you?" Edmund inquired.

"Yes. Right, Hermione? You're the one who brought it up, after all."

"Um, well," her voice sounded faint in her own ears. "It would be wonderful, I've always dreamt about Sorbonne, but I don't really see how I'm going to raise all that money."

And she had certainly never dreamed of going there with Tom Riddle. Her mind spun furiously: _ That would change the past on a momentous level. Either Voldemort's rise to power would be speeded up by several years, or he could turn away from that path into something more productive, like magical research. After all, he had wanted to teach, but was denied the post at Hogwarts. Going to Sorbonne, he could end up as an University professor instead of a dark lord. Oh well, if wishes had wings… She really, really didn't believe that. But still… _

"You can worry about that later," Abraxas said. "Before that, why don't all of you come to my mother's Valentine ball? It won't be as dull as it sounds, I promise. There'll be drinks and smart people, and it's a chance to take your fiancées for a date.”

Sebastian scowled, and Hermione was reminded of the fact that his fiancé was soon to be eleven years old.

"We'll need permission to leave school," Edmund said, "but I'll bet Slughorn will say yes."

Tom snaked his hand around Hermione's waist, and said: "Would you like to go? It's a good opportunity to get to know people. I know I want to go."

Imelda Malfoys' warning to stay away from him figured prominently in Hermione's thoughts, and she felt her anger start to simmer again at the thought of Pure-blood racism. Feeling rebellious, she said firmly: "Yes, it'll be fun."

Xxxx

After Transfiguration class, Dumbledore asked her to stay behind. Well after the other students had left, he said to her gravely: "Congratulations on your performance at the hearing. But I have to ask you, I trust you know nothing of Professor Barness' accident, Hermione?"

Her eyes snapped to his face, her own countenance frozen in shock. But her voice said quietly, smoothly, like it had no connection to her inner turmoil at all: "No, Professor, absolutely not. I am as shocked as anyone. But really, you didn't think that I would _ hurt _ Professor Barness? That makes me feel, well, I don't know…" Her voice trailed off like she was insecure, and on the inside she marveled at her own acting skills. _ She had never been that good a liar. Never. Tom must really have rubbed off on her. _

Dumbledore looked uncomfortable for a moment, before he answered: "No, I wouldn't like to think that of you. But, we're all aware of what happened in your last lesson, Hermione. I have to say, that kind of behavior from a teacher should be unheard of, and it wouldn't be surprising if you had tried to retaliate. Not that I condone such actions, of course," he added hastily.

Hermione gave him a weak smile. "I know you wouldn't, Professor. I must say I was very angry with her, but to cause an accident would be far from my disposition." _ How come I can lie so easily to Dumbledore, of all people? _She felt a little worried, not because she tried to fool Dumbledore – if such a thing indeed was possible – but because lying had never been second nature to her.

She cleared her throat, looking away. Taking a deep breath, she asked: "Could you tell me if there are any movements to open Sorbonne to non-French students, Professor, or perhaps any British movements to offer scholarships to Sorbonne? I think it's awful that British wizards and witches are effectively blocked from attending."

Now his eyes were twinkling in amusement, and Dumbledore said: "Will this be your next cause after you sway the Ministry to change our curriculum? I haven't heard anything, but I can ask around. The idea of the Ministry to offer scholarships is a good one. I expect you're interested in attending, then? And, perhaps, not on your own?"

She blushed a little, and replied: "You're right, of course. I would love to go, and …, if someone else were to attend too, it would be something that could make a serious impact on future events."

"I see," Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, steepling his hands under his chin. Then he asked: "But have you considered the fact that someone could get access to _ too much _ information of a certain kind?"

"Yes," she said slowly. "But this someone will get it anyway, and this would be in a more … controlled fashion. And, maybe this someone could, through getting recognition to scholarly achievements, could turn into a more _ productive _path."

"Maybe," Dumbledore said curtly. "But I wouldn't get my hopes up, if I were you. Still, it's worth a try. I assume this is a more _ peaceful _solution than what you've been considering earlier?"

"Maybe," Hermione answered gravely. "But as you say, maybe it won't work. Probably, it won't work at all." 

Xxxx

During dinner, Tom turned to her, in full view of the rest of the Slytherins: "I would like to invite you to an informal gathering of friends, Hermione. It's on Saturday. Would you join us? We gather to practice magic, improving our skills and knowledge, and I'm the leader of this group."

Instantly, she was aware of her surroundings. Sebastian Lestrange, losing his fork, causing it to clatter to the stone floor, Edmund Rosier who stopped eating altogether, staring at Tom. The fifth year Druella Black scowled at her, along with - _ of course _ \- her older cousin Walburga, while her brother Cygnus merely looked surprised. Marvin Goyle and Edward Crabbe continued to eat, but kept shooting furtive glances at her, and Dolohov - _ that pig _ – licked his lips as he eyed her speculatively. Only Abraxas Malfoy looked unaffected, as if this wasn't momentous news.

"Well," Tom arched an eyebrow at her, "will you join us?" His expression was an odd mixture of arrogance and curiosity, like he didn’t think her able to refuse him, but at the same time, he wasn’t entirely sure about her response. 

Gathering herself, she realized that he'd just invited her to be a Death Eater, or whatever he called his followers this early on. _ She had promised herself that she would become a pretend Death Eater if need be, and now the chance had arrived. Would she dare to take the opportunity? _

Taking a deep breath, she said: "I'd love to," meeting his dark eyes. She gave him a long, considering look, showing him that she realized this was something different than friends having fun.

He smiled reassuringly at her, and patted her back, with a strangely amused glint in his eyes. But it took a long time before the rest of the Slytherin gang resumed normal conversation.

Xxxx

Saturday came quickly, and she felt very nervous. Following his tall shadow into the deeper parts of the dungeon, she wondered what she was getting herself into. _ Did he have an initiation ritual or something? She wouldn't put that past him, considering the later Dark Marks. Would she have to swear fealty to him? That would prove to be a problem later on, but then again – if she wasn't able to find his Horcruxes, then she was in deep shit anyway. Getting him to trust her was still the issue. _

The passage became more narrow, damp and musty-smelling, growing steadily darker, and finely cut stonewalls turned into rough-hewn rock as they went along into the deep. At last, he stopped in front of a low, wooden door.

"After you," he said to her, smiling. But the smile didn't reach his eyes. _ Odd_, she noted_, she missed that. But, did that mean that she was used to real smiles from him? Whenever had _ ** _that_ ** _ happened? _

Feeling as she went to her doom, she stepped through the door. The room was low-ceilinged, with a smooth, wooden floor, comfortable chairs in a circle and lit by torches in scones along the wall. It could have been cozy, if it weren't for the hard stares from the two Black girls, Walburga and Druella, and the sneering from Crabbe, Goyle and Dolohov. _ That bastard still made her uneasy, but she had gotten used to him being around, telling herself he wasn’t a threat to her. She was more powerful, older and smarter. He was just a sixth year, and besides, Ginny had killed him for her in the future. There was no reason for her to waste any time worrying about Antonin Dolohov. He was … unimportant. _

Still, it was a small relief that Sebastian, Cygnus and Edmund gave her cautious smiles, while Abraxas just gave her a curt nod.

"Tonight, we're welcoming Hermione into our circle," Tom said, sounding for all the world like a high priest as he led her into the circle. _ His _chair was taller, more throne-like than the rest of the chairs, she noted, as he placed her in the chair on his right side. She sat down, a little gingerly, her body in full combat mode, like she expected to defend herself for her life in just a few moments. 

As everyone sat down, Tom stood in front of his chair, running a hand slowly through his dark hair before he started to speak. "All of us are here because we want to reach a higher level, wield more power, transcend our limits and the boundaries of magic itself. Unfortunately, our Ministry and the school system wish to keep us from exploring, testing and challenging ourselves, and that's why we meet in secret. Someday, though, we'll be able to change the world, allowing people to expand their knowledge, roaming the edges of magic as they please, with no concerns as to the limited, sorry excuses for morals that our government imposes on us. Only then will wizards – and witches – _ he nodded to Hermione, Walburga and Druella _ – be truly free to make the next, great magical discoveries to the best of their abilities. But that day isn't today. We'll learn from each other in secret to improve ourselves, or face the consequences of failure or betrayal in this group."

Taking a breath, he turned to Hermione. "And that's why I'm so pleased you would join me. You are a remarkably talented and knowledgeable witch, and you have proved that you already mastered elements of magic far outside what Hogwarts will ever teach you. Your magical capability will prove an invaluable asset to us today and in the future. Especially in the future – _ my – our – _future."

He cast an amused glance at her, before he turned to the rest: "Ladies and gentlemen, Hermione has performed all Unforgivables, yes, including the Killing Curse. She has seen battles, wielded dark magic, and is a very competent Occlumens."

Hermione gasped – _ she had in no way allowed him to share her secrets like that, that sneaky git – _but she wasn't the only one. Walburga rose from her chair, pointing a shaking finger to Hermione. Her eyes blazed, and she almost stuttered as the words spilled over her lips:

"She lies to you, my Lord! I've seen her in the dorm for half a year, and she's a lizard! Pretending to be friendly, but all she ever wants is to get closer to you. She's just a stupid, besotted girl, doing anything and everything to get to you. After seeing her giggle, gossip and strive to improve her obviously less than fortunate looks, I don't believe for a second that she has the willpower or stamina for casting Unforgivables. Don't you remember, she couldn't curse you with the Imperius, my lord, in Defense Against the Dark Arts before Christmas!"

Hermione gaped at her, not quite sure to respond to something like that. _ That's a first_, she thought, _ I've never been labelled like stupid in my life, quite the opposite. _But her anger slowly started to simmer in her stomach, though she realized Walburga did this out of jealousy.

"Would you care to prove yourself, Hermione?" Tom said lightly, twirling his wand between his fingers. She could tell he was enjoying himself. _ Oh, he would be, wouldn't he? Walburga painting a picture of her as a moping girl, lost in her love for him. _

Rage came to a sudden, ferocious boil in her, but she forced it down, feeling as if it was a live animal trying to claw its way to freedom inside her. 

Gritting her teeth, she replied: "I don't need to prove myself to the likes of her." She drilled her eyes into Walburga, watching the sneer grow on the girl's beautiful face.

"I thought so, my Lord," the tall girl said, shooting a condescending glance to Hermione. "She's all talk and lies, but she's a coward with no merit to her claims. I can assure you, you're wasting your time on this witch. She may be smart and know her magical theory, but she's sadly lacking in the practical application. Hermione Granger is the kind of witch that would run and hide at the first hint of trouble. She'll never stand up for herself or any cause if there's real dangers involved. You should just Obliviate her and send her back."

Suddenly, her anger was back in full force, anger at these Pure-blooded _ children, _ playing around with something they didn't understand the consequences of. They thought this was a bit of fun, but they didn't understand that the young wizard lording them about was deadly serious, and they most certainly didn't understand what this would do to their future selves and the wizarding world. For them, it was a game, but for her, it was a war. _ A very real one _.

As Walburga continued her rant: “It's about time you run back to the dorm, sniveling in your bed as you usually do - yes, I’ve heard you, witchling - just like the little coward you are. You don't understand the first thing about anything besides your own, precious self…"

… something _ broke _ inside her, her anger overflowing with a resounding ** _snap!_ ** , and she lifted her wand to Walburga, whispering “ _ Crucio.” _

The curse thundered through her and out of her wand, her magic on a wild ride like a flooding river, making her skin hum like it was electrically charged, her hair crackling with power, her blood on fire. _ It felt so good, so good to let go, so good to be so high on magic… _She almost did not notice Walburga’s shrieks and whimpers, she was so lost in the release of her magic.

And then her course of her curse was broken off by a powerful shield, making the curse fizz haywire away from Walburga, causing Cygnus and Abraxas to duck before it crashed into a wall, before she managed to put a stopper to her magic. 

Breathing heavily, she felt dazed. _ It had to be the strongest burst of magic she'd ever experienced. And all she wanted to do was doing it again. And again. And how wrong was that? _

Tom touched her arm, sounding pleased as punch as he said: "And _ that _, ladies and gentlemen, is how you perform a Cruciatus."

On the floor, Walburga groaned, blood trickling slowly from her lip where she had bitten herself. 

The others just stared blankly at Hermione, not even surprise registering on their faces, though Crabbe shifted his feet a little nervously. 

Staggering into Tom, she felt totally spent, and he put his arm around her to steady her. Looking down at her, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards in an almost invisible smile, and he squeezed her arm briefly.

Xxxx

The next day, she felt exhausted. Between Transfiguration and Potions, she huddled into a corner of the courtyard, trying to hide from everyone. But she had no such luck, as Cygnus came by, taking a seat beside her.

"Cold today, isn't it?" he stated, tone pleasant and polite, staring out on the fog rolling in towards Hogwarts from the mountains in the distance. Soon the lake would be covered by the fog, rendering it into invisibility.

"Yes," she said curtly, wishing for him to leave.

"Very impressive what you did yesterday. I would like you to know that even though she's my cousin, I don't share her sentiments, and I most certainly don't feel any obligation to defend her. The same goes for my sister Druella."

She looked at him then, a little surprised, before realizing that defending Walburga probably was something he was expected to do. _ His reason for talking to her was to reassure her that there wouldn't be any attempts on revenge from his part. _

"Oh. Thanks for telling me," she said, trying to make her voice a little warmer than she actually felt. _ Because she was cold. Bitterly cold on the inside, like she never would be warm again, like she never would feel anything at all again. _

They sat in silence for a while, watching the fog inch towards the castle, obscuring the grounds.

Hermione cast around in her mind for anything to keep up a conversation, but her mind came up blank, before settling on a question. _Oh, there was something she'd like to know more about, though it was a dangerous subject._ _But right now, she couldn't seem to care about the danger._

"Cygnus," she said slowly, "I need to ward something in my dorm. Would you know anything about wards? It has got to be very strong, possibly fatal to an intruder."

He stared at her, a finger tapping his lip, before saying: "You know, I don't believe Walburga would dare to go through your things. She's difficult to read at the best, but I do think she's a little afraid of you at the moment."

"Oh, not only Walburga. I was thinking about House-elves, other students – anyone, actually," Hermione clarified.

"You should ask Tom. He has wards that probably would kill or at least maim severely. I'm not sure what it is he's warding so heavily and why, but I do know that the objects are quite small. His traps are deadly, at least to House-elves, I've witnessed this myself," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Hermione was horrified, and for a brief moment she was shook out of her stupor – _ killing a House-elf with his wards, destroying a poor, innocent creature forced into slavery _ – but then her shoulders slumped.

Right now, she couldn't seem to rouse herself from the hollow ache inside her. _ And deadly wards? Just her luck that he protected his Horcruxes with something like that, even as a schoolboy. _

The fog had reached the courtyard, swiftly covering everything into grey mist.

Xxxx

Come evening, she still felt detached, like her feelings had been switched off since she had tortured Walburga. Pretending to read in the library, she examined herself clinically, telling herself that it had to be the shock. _ Shock over losing her temper and doing unforgivable magic, and feeling so good about it. And this time, there was no reasoning of greater good behind her spellwork. This had happened merely because she had been taunted, not at all like the last time, where the Cruciatus had been a way to stop a Death Eater to kill the rest of them. That had a certain righteousness to it, but what she did yesterday was just pure evil. And pure ecstasy. _

"You are very quiet today," Tom commented. Hermione became aware that he had put down his quill, supporting his chin in his hand while he looked at her.

"Just something on my mind," she tried to breeze it off, quickly turning the page in her book.

"You've been staring at the same page for twenty minutes," he informed her.

"Oh." She didn't really have a reply for that, and looked down.

"It was the first time you've felt like that, doing magic," he stated knowingly.

Her head whipped to him, and she whispered: "How do you know?"

"I've seen you cast many times before. And I've never seen that level of … passion, and strength … in your casting. You really let go, yesterday. But I can teach you to rein it in, not letting your magic control you like that, though you'll still feel as good about it."

She blinked. "Yes…," she said a little unsure.

"Yes indeed," he nodded affirmingly. Then he smiled at her, his eyes glittering in the darkening room, saying: "You'll need that level of strength when we get to Sorbonne, you know."

Shaking herself out of her daze, she cocked an eyebrow to him. "And just how are we going to do that? Both of us can, in all probability, obtain the necessary grades, but where do we get all that kind of money?"

"Well," he said, ticking off his fingers, "we can break in at Gringotts, Imperio' the Malfoys into giving us the money, we can steal magical or even Muggle artifacts for the black market. What would you prefer?"

She snorted with laughter. "These things aren't feasible. Who ever heard about a raid on Gringotts? Even the Malfoys will notice thousands of galleons missing, though I dare say stealing Muggle artifacts might work – though it would take a lot of time. Years, even."

"What would you suggest, Hermione?" His smile was a little wicked.

"I would try to make the Ministry offer a scholarship, pointing out to them that it is a great shame Britain hasn't had a University student in hundreds of years."

"That would take too much time," he scoffed, "we wouldn't get in before we were 25 years old."

"I'm not so sure about that," she said tiredly, "besides, I like to stay on the right side of the law." 

To herself, she added: _ at least I used to do that. _

Xxxx

"Are you all ready?" Slughorn asked them as they gathered around the Portkey in his office. He had given them permission to attend the Malfoy Valentine ball, at the same time revealing that he himself was invited. 

So here they were, Hermione and Tom, Abraxas and Muriel, Cygnus and Mariette, Sebastian, Joanna and Edmund, ready to go to Malfoy Manor with their Potions professor as a chaperone. 

The Portkey, an old cauldron, buzzed to life, shimmering with a bluish light. The familiar feeling of a hook in her navel drew Hermione into space, and as they landed in one of the formal gardens of the Malfoy family, she nearly stumbled into Slughorn.

"Ouch," he winced, as her left foot smashed down on his right, and her back bumped into his vast bulk.

"Sorry, Professor!" she squeaked, still feeling slightly nauseous due to the Portkey travelling. Looking around, she saw the gardens were immaculate. The bushes were trimmed into fantastical shapes of beasts, fairies fluttered over a large maze, making pinprick points of lights as they moved, and in a large fountain the water was frozen solid in a pillar – almost as if the temperature had dropped momentarily, freezing the water as it gushed forth. Roses rimmed the walkways, all of them frozen at the moment of blooming, and the gravel beneath their feet was frost-rimmed, sparkling slightly in the cold February sunlight.

The manor itself was a sight to see. It was built with a greenish sandstone, standing tall and imposing with several turrets, rows upon rows of lit windows, with sweeping terraces and stairs curving down to meet the gardens.

Hermione's glance was drawn to Abraxas, and his expression was one of happiness and pride, as he held his arm around Muriel's shoulders. Muriel looked as stunned as Hermione felt – _ what would it be like to grow up in a place like this? The Burrow certainly was no match to this in splendor, but maybe more than a match in warmth and welcoming, _Hermione conceded.

Sebastian gave a fleeting look of annoyance to Cygnus, who held Mariette's arm, before he turned away, his mouth thinning. Cygnus had for some reason been allowed by his parents to bring Mariette as a date. Hermione supposed this was due to _ his _ fiancé still being in her diapers. 

Apparently, Sebastian's eleven year old fiancé was considered old enough to attend, and she'd meet them in the evening, just like Joanna was to meet her far older fiancé. Considering Sebastian's anguished looks, he was not happy with the arrangement. 

Hermione felt a weak stirring of sympathy for him, but she was distracted as Abraxas said: "Please leave you suitcases and bags, the House-elves will relocate your luggage to your designated rooms." She noticed Tom looking at Abraxas, and the tall, blonde Malfoy nodded imperceptibly. 

Then tall, statuesque Imelda Malfoy entered one of the terraces, waving at them, and they started the walk up to the grand house.

"Oh, how you've grown, Abraxas!" Imelda said as she embraced her son. "I do miss you so much when you're away." Abraxas looked a little embarrassed by his mother's display of affection, but he hugged her back.

"Mother, I'd like to introduce you to my date for the evening, the lovely Muriel Weasley."

Suddenly, the air was thrumming with tension, and gooseflesh erupted on Hermione's arms. 

Blue eyes underneath waves of long, blonde hair emitted icicles, meeting green eyes with fiery sparks accompanying red curls. The silence grew for a few seconds, as the eyes of Imelda and Muriel seemed to be locked in some kind of battle. Abraxas stood by, shifting his feet, looking nervous.

Then the beautiful Mrs. Malfoy nodded her head formally at Muriel, saying with slightly narrowed eyes: "Miss Weasley, I bid you welcome to Malfoy Manor and our ancestral home. You will be the first Weasley entering the manor inn three hundred years. Nonetheless, let all past unpleasantness be forgotten."

Hermione gasped a little, _ did the enmity go back so far in time? _

Muriel curtsied, replying formally, her green eyes never leaving Imelda's face: "I'm honoured by your welcome, Mrs. Malfoy. Let me reassure you of my good will, and impress upon you my gratitude for inviting me."

Imelda shot a rueful look at Abraxas, before she replied lightly: "Oh, I'll do anything to make my son happy." Abraxas looked slightly abashed, and Imelda's mouth quirked.

Then she turned to the rest, saying warmly: "Horace, it's been such a long time. How are you, cooped up in that dreadful school? After all it's midseason, and we've hardly seen you at any functions."

"Oh, Imelda, teaching the young has ever been my calling, but I do miss being out and about," Professor Slughorn said heartily. "You look stunning, and the youngsters are so excited to attend the ball. This is the highlight of the year, and I wouldn't miss it for the world. I hope our young friends will enjoy themselves, not letting the presence of their old teacher dampen their spirits!"

Imelda smiled at him, and moved over to the rest. "Sebastian, Cygnus and Edmund, it's so lovely to see you again. Miss Parkinson, I hope your mother is well, and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Penilworth. And you are most welcome, Miss Granger – I have to say you did an impressive job at the hearing, there are so many who has expressed an interest in you after what you did. You can expect to be very popular at the ball." 

And finally, she turned to Tom, her eyes growing slightly colder. "Mr. Riddle, how are you? It's been quite some time. I heard you inherited a _ Muggle _ house recently."

Hermione saw Tom stiffen, before he plastered a smile on his face. "I'm well enough, Mrs. Malfoy, and you look as beautiful as ever. Thank you for inviting us." But the angry look in his eyes belied his words.

Xxxx

Hermione was shown into a large bedroom, her luggage already unpacked.

"This be your bedroom for the night, Miss Granger," a young House-elf squeaked to her. "I can help miss get ready, and you just call Twinkles if you is needing anythings, Miss!"

"Thank you, Twinkles," Hermione said kindly, and the House-elf Disapparated with a loud _ POP _.

The room had a large fireplace, where logs crackled merrily. Two comfortable wing chairs stood in front of the fire, and a big four-poster bed dominated the room. To the side was a door ajar, leading into the bathroom. Inside, there was a bathtub with room for at least two people, and there was a stack of towels on the side. Refreshing herself, she went downstairs for lunch.

Xxxx

"All of you are very welcome. You brighten our home with your youthful glow." Abraxas father, Septimus Malfoy, croaked his welcome, and the guests greeted him politely. 

Hermione was surprised by his age, and as they sat down, Joanna whispered to her: "Their marriage is infamous. He's actually 43 years older than Imelda, and that makes him 80 years old."

Hermione felt her eyes grow big, and whispered: "And how did that come about?"

Joanna rolled her eyes at her. "How do you think, Hermione? Use that brain of yours. It was obviously arranged." Hermione shivered, though she noted that Imelda treated her old, decrepit husband with kindness and care.

"This is one of the most important balls of the season," Septimus said. "I expect you to make us proud by behaving like adult Pure-bloods. Of course, except you, Tom. But then again, you're so clever that you're almost like a Pure-blood. I'm sure you won't put us to shame."

The only reason she heard Tom grit his teeth, was the fact that she was sitting right beside him.

But, she also heard Imelda whisper softly to Abraxas: "At least your Half-blood friend didn't spring a surprise Weasley on us. I had never thought the date you'd mentioned would be _ her. _"

Xxxx

In the afternoon, she was getting ready for the ball in her room, and Joanna and Mariette had joined her.

"You two did an amazing job in Transfiguring my old dresses," Joanna said, as she looked at Mariette and Hermione.

"Thanks again for offering," Hermione said. "I'm quite pleased with my dresses, but black is a bit somber for a Valentine ball. Altering one of yours was an excellent opportunity." She had Transfigured an old, green dress belonging to Joanna into a ball gown, with a deep décolletage and a full skirt.

Mariette had made a pink dress into a long, high-necked gown that hugged her curves. She smirked at Joanna: "That fiancé of yours, he's going to get a heart attack when he sees you. Remember, he's an old man, you just might be too beautiful for him." 

Joanna's dress was silvery, made in sheer, almost see-through Acromantula silk, and her dark, curly hair was piled high on the top of her head, with a few curls spilling down to her shoulder. She looked like a vision of a diminutive porcelain beauty.

Hermione sighed, looking morosely at her own hair. Then she gave in, calling "Twinkle!"

The House-elf apparated with a _ POP _into the bedroom.

"Can you please help me with my hair," Hermione sighed, inwardly berating herself for using House-elf slave labour for such a whimsical reasons, just to look good at a ball.

Xxxx

An hour later, she was standing on the top of the stairs, her elbow tucked into the arm of the tall, handsome wizard at her side. Once again, she thought:_ It's unfair. People shouldn't be allowed to look this good. _His dark hair was immaculate as always, and the black dress robes were of a finer cut than she had previously seen. But his eyes were the most beautiful part of him, she decided. Dark, glittering orbs, sucking you in like he could see your very soul. 

The herald announced them: "Mr. Riddle and Miss Granger."

It was their cue to walk down the stairs, the eyes from the throng in the ballroom looking at them. She felt uncomfortable by the staring, but Tom looked as he'd never done anything in his life but entering ballrooms. She recognized quite a few people lot from Slughorn's party. The ballroom was lit up by vast chandeliers, the wooden floor polished until it shone, and the myriad of people dressed up in their finest brightened up the room like so many rare birds.

As soon as they were downstairs, they were joined by their friends. Sebastian had a long-suffering look on his face as he held his young fiancé in her hand, and the glare he shot at Cygnus leading Mariette onto the dancefloor was deadly. The very tall, thin Mortucan Avery nodded politely to them before he whisked Joanna off into a dance, and the couple looked a bit odd with his skeletal height and her diminutive size.

Soon, an official from the Department of Mystery immediately engaged Tom in a discussion, and several young men came over to ask her to dance. She could see Tom getting restless and irritated by the attention she received, but as he was stuck with the official, she rather thought she could have some fun on her own.

She accepted a dance with a young Wizengamot member, and every time she faced Tom, he gave her a scowl. She stuck her tongue out at him, winking cheekily, and his face broke into a reluctant grin, his jealousy losing its hold on him. After finishing the dance, Imelda Malfoy took hold of her arm.

"Dear Miss Granger, I do hope you enjoy yourself. Though, I'm a little disappointed that you didn't take my advice. Remember, in this room, there are several young gentlemen who might be interested in a girl like you. You don't have to demean yourself just because you have no family to back you up."

Hermione stiffened, feeling her temper grow. Forcing down her ire, she said sweetly: "But I do like Tom, Mrs. Malfoy. He's brilliant, and ... _ the words almost stuck on her tongue _… I believe he'll go far."

"Yes, yes," Imelda said impatiently. "He looks as good as they get, but still. Well, there's nothing to it, Miss Granger, but think about it. Another man might help you to achieve what you want to do, much faster than a Half-blood boy with no family." But as Mrs. Malfoy looked at Tom, Hermione noted that she licked her lips slowly, letting her blue eyes rest on him for a long time.

Xxxx

Later, she went back to his side. As they drifted through the room, she saw a doorway with a greenish tinge around the edges.

"What's that?" she said with curiosity. She wanted to get closer to examine it, but Tom drew her away, steering them in another direction. 

Leaning in close to her ear, he whispered: "You should stay away from that for your own good."

"But what does it do?"

His voice lowered even more, as he told her: "It's a Mudblood detector. Screams like a banshee if you aren't at least a Half-blood."

Her eyes whipped to him, and he gave her a small smirk. _ Did he know? How? How on earth had the young Lord Voldemort found out that she was Muggleborn? _

She felt panic closing in, but then he put his arm around her, almost breathing into her ear: "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me." But the butterflies in her stomach didn't settle at all.

Strolling up to Joanna and her fiancé Mortucan Avery, Tom immediately engaged Mortucan in a discussion about Ministry relations to France, slowly turning the conversation to Sorbonne.

"Oh, Dumbledore came up with an initiative for a scholarship, advocating it rather strongly to the Ministry," Mortucan said. "Sorbonne is in a more positive mood then we had realized, mainly due to losing students to Grindelwald's war. He has recruited extensively among the students, and many parents try to stop their sons from attending, being afraid of their kids getting caught up in the war. So, Sorbonne need more students, and it looks like this will be solved without our government paying an outrageous price for the scholarship. Still, it's expensive, so at the most we'll send one student."

Hermione got swept up in a dance by the Head of the Department of Law Enforcement, though she strained her ears to pick up the rest of the conversation.

"Why will there be only one scholarship? Surely the government could afford at least two," Tom asked.

Mortucan grinned, taking a glance at her. Hermione could only snatch parts of their conversation, as Mortucan said: "Is this because of her? That might not be a problem because…". She couldn't hear the rest, but Tom's eyes lit up.

The Department Head, Wilfred Sagenhoe, obviously found her fascinating, asking for the next dance too. He almost crushed her into his arms, slowly stroking her back, almost fondling her, while he kept the conversation safely into what types of jobs his Department could offer for young, promising people, especially those who were amenable to “do special efforts in the service.” Wriggling to escape, she thought: "_ Where's the jealous Tom Riddle when I need him? _

But then she saw him. The beautiful Imelda Malfoy had her hands on the lapels of his dress robe, looking up at him with a look of sheer desire. Hermione swallowed, bile rising in her throat. _ Had Imelda tried to get her away from him because she wanted him for herself? _Suddenly furious, she shoved Mr. Sagenhoe away, breaking up the dance, excusing herself quickly.

As she made a beeline for Tom through the ballroom guest, she saw Imelda slipping away. 

Before she reached him, the herald played a short note on a trumpet, making the crowd go quiet. The herald announced: "The Malfoys wish to announce that the Honorable Abraxas Malfoy is engaged to Miss Muriel Weasley!"

The crowd was stunned into silence for a few seconds, and then the cheers almost lifted the roof. Abraxas stood, blushing a little, in the middle of the dancefloor, holding Muriel's hands. Both of them looked a bit sheepish, but very, very pleased. Imelda and Septimus, however, looked far from happy.

Xxxx

Late at night, she was back in her room, ridding her sore feet of her high-heeled shoes. It felt so good, she sighed to herself. But then she stubbed her toe on a large, black suitcase. _ A suitcase? She didn't have a suitcase like this one… _

The door made an almost inaudible click, and Tom entered the room.

She whispered furiously at him: "You're not supposed to be here! Go to your own room."

"But this is my room too. Abraxas made sure we'd be staying together tonight. I want to be with you."

Making an exasperated sigh, she said: "Fine, but the only thing that'll happen tonight is sleeping, do you hear me?"

"As you like it," he said amusedly. To her surprise, he let her get ready for bed without trying to distract her. After they both had snuck under the covers, he asked her:

"How about an innocent kiss?"

She felt like this was a really stupid thing to do, but still, she realized she actually wanted to kiss him. He deepened the kiss quickly, making her moan into his mouth. He moved his mouth down her throat, kissing and nipping at her skin, pushing down her nightgown over her shoulders. _ It felt so good, and soon, soon, she'd make him stop… _

His breathing got heavier as he kissed the upper part of her chest, his hands coming up to fondle her breast, teasing her nipple. Out of a sudden, he Vanished their clothes, making her start.

"Tom, what are you doing? I said nothing should happen!"

"I just wanted to see you, Hermione, you're so beautiful. Your skin is so soft, I love to touch you." 

His voice got muffled, as he burrowed into the covers, and Hermione shivered as his mouth ghosted over her nipples, continuing down below her navel. Pushing her legs apart, his mouth found her centre, his tongue slowly lapping at her folds. _ Oh, this was exquisite. _

She writhed, but he held her hips in an iron grip, keeping her legs still. Her eyes were glazing over, her back arching, and she moaned to him: "Don't stop, please continue, this is so good, oh Tom, please…" Her hips wanted to move, pushing against him, and little tremors started to run through her.

He gave her a smug look from his position between her legs, his tongue delving into her folds, licking broad strokes from her opening, circling her nub, making her heart race. As he slowly pushed a finger inside her, she came undone, bucking at him, panting loudly as she felt as if the firmament exploded behind her eyes.

Coming down from her high, she realized he had moved up along her body, still positioned between her legs. "No," she whispered, "you can't do that," clenching her thighs together.

"Why not?" he ground out, his breath short, his cock hard against her thigh. "It won't hurt, not much, and I'll go gently on you. You will love it, I swear."

"No", she repeated, casting around in her brain for some other reason than _ you're Lord Voldemort, the most evil wizard of all times, that's why! _Instead, she floundered: "I, I, I won't have sex before I'm married!"

"What?" he drew himself up in evident surprise. "Are you serious?"

"Yes!" she lied blatantly. "I'm saving myself for marriage."

He huffed, and looked away from her, grinding his cock slowly, worming his way in between her thighs. "Keep your legs together, then, or else I can't guarantee the consequences."

_But it felt so good_, she thought. The silky skin on his iron-hard cock slid between her thighs, pointing at her center, rubbing at her swollen clitoris. He groaned harshly into ear, thrusting faster. _Hermione_ _so wanted to spread her legs, letting him take her, but she held on to what little willpower she had left, keeping her legs tightly together. _

The tip of him became slick with his pre-cum and her juices, and it tickled deliciously at her nub. Feeling him tighten up, growing impossibly harder before he let out a groan, she let herself go over the edge with him, both of them moaning each other's names, their tongues locking together, before his release shot out, covering her sex and her thighs.

Afterwards, they both lay panting, and Hermione snuggled into him. _ I never thought Voldemort was one for snuggling, _ she thought sleepily, _ but apparently he is. This is, actually, cozy. _He held her tightly to his chest as they both fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing the Cruciatus scene (I know, it makes me a bad girl, but I swear, it was fun). 
> 
> On the other hand, do you think Tom is 'satisfied' yet...? ;-)


	14. Creating Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't a fire, Hermione thought, it's a pyre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word of warning: This chapter contains a dark ritual at the end. If you're faint of heart, you should probably skip that part (of course, you’re not faint of heart, you’re reading a story about Tom/Voldemort, lol). Still, the ritual is going to be a bit … excessive.

She stretched, feeling warm, hazy and contended. Her legs bumped into something, and she flinched in shock, all her wartime reflexes pulling at her. 

_ What was that? _In a flash of a second, she was sitting upright, her wand in hand and ready to fire curses. And then she remembered, blushing slightly as she felt the stickiness between her legs from the night before.

"Is it morning already?" he grunted beside her, rubbing his eyes. _ He _ didn't sound as if he was all that satisfied, but then, she smiled a little to herself, it didn't surprise her that he wasn't a morning person. _ She'd be more likely to believe him hexing the hell out of anyone waking him up. Oh, well, she had her wand. _

"Hey," she said, turning to face him, trying to fight a ridiculous grin that somehow wanted to plaster itself on her face. _ She wasn't quite sure if the grin was a result of her bodily contentment or the idea of hexing him first. _

He looked at her, bleary-eyed, and grunted some more, before pulling her down into his arms. She nuzzled her face into his chest, enjoying both her good mood and how comfortable it was, lying here skin-to-skin. _ Yes, skin-to-skin… _ Recalling their actions at night, she felt herself heat up a bit. _ He had used his tongue on her, and it felt glorious. She wanted to feel that again, but… _

Retreating into her more rational, logical self, she pulled away from him. "I'll go to the bathroom first," she told him. The polished, oaken floor felt warm, as her naked feet padded to the bathroom, and as she looked back, she could see Tom sitting up in bed, peeking at her naked form with a decidedly interested expression.

_ That bathtub… _She smiled a little wickedly for herself, and started to run the bath. The sound of the taps gushing chased him out of bed too, and he stood, slouching at the door frame as she stepped into the over-large tub.

"Would you like to join me?" She could feel that her expression was playful, and she enjoyed the opportunity to check out his naked body. _ Tall, lean but muscular, defined abs and biceps, a light sprinkle of black hairs on his chest, tapering down to… a very erect cock. _Feeling herself heat up, she averted her eyes, but he wasted no time following her into the tub.

He knelt in front of her in the tub, Summoning a flannel, starting to rub her shoulders and chest. Sitting down, she enjoyed the experience with closed eyes, exhaling slowly as she felt him massaging knots of tension out of her shoulders. But her body stirred, wanting something else than relaxation. Turning around, she filled her hands with one of the variety of bath oils presented on the ledge, and proceeded to massage him back, dipping quickly below the water to his stomach. Creating a nifty little Bubble Charm to cover her hands, she was able to retain the oil on her hands as she grasped his cock.

Stroking him, she felt him grunt in satisfaction, and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back. Her hands were too small to cover the length of him, and she moved her hand vigorously up and down on his shaft, the other hand cupping his sack, tickling him. He started to buck in her hands, and she stopped the movement to prolong his ecstasy. Instead, she slowly stroked the tip of his head, paying special attention to that spot right underneath that made him growl every time she flicked her fingers at it.

She felt warmth and desire pool in her belly as she watched him, feeling the need to squeeze her vaginal muscles, turning herself on more by her rhythmic clenching. 

He said hoarsely: "I'm going to come, any second, do it faster, Hermione!"

She obeyed, switching back to stroking him, and he thrust into her hand, his face contorting into bliss as he came into the bathtub. He gasped, eyes wide open, staring her straight in the eyes through his climax.

His chest heaved for a few moments, before he smiled mischievously, dragging her onto his lap with her back against him. He forcibly spread her legs, using his own thighs as leverage, and snaked one hand to her breast, and the other down between her legs. Rubbing her slit agonizingly slow, his breathing was hot in her ear. She moved against him, enjoying fully the feel of his hands thumbing her nipple and the other one at her clit. Her head fell back on his shoulders, and she moaned. "Please, move your hand faster, Tom, please."

He bit down on her shoulder, making her gasp from the sudden, delicious pain, before complying to her wishes. Her abdomen tightened up in anticipation, and she spread her legs further to his touch. As he pinched her clit, the build-up inside her shattered, and she lost herself into the rhythm, moaning, clenching, trembling in his hands.

As she came down from her high, she felt him kiss her neck, soothing the bite, before he lit up the water with a wandless and wordless spell. The water turned purple for a short moment, and she felt a cold rush on her insides.

"What was that?" she said, instantly alert.

"Contraceptive spell," he said dryly. "Unless you would **want** me to impregnate you, this is just for safety."

"What, no, of course not!" she said, mentally berating herself for being so mindless as to make him come in the bathwater. But now, she felt just so relaxed, like her body was totally free from all stressful issues. _ Well, stress issues… There were things she had to know. _

She rested her head on his shoulder, gathering her courage. "How did you know?"

"Know? Oh, _ that. _ I've known since the first time we met, as in the first time I tried to use Legilimency on you in Diagon Alley. Foremost in your mind you had one thought, namely: _ He must not know I'm Muggle-born._"

She could feel him shrug, before he continued: "It's a rookie mistake, Hermione. If you're worried about something, you will pull the attention to the thought, instead of obscuring it. Then it's all there to pluck down for anyone entering your mind. Though, I have to say, you've grown far better at Occlumency after I started attacking you."

Mulling it over in silence for a moment, she thought: _ The nerve of him, telling me I was a rookie. But since he had gleaned that particular information from her, she grudgingly supposed he was right. _Then she asked: "And, you, of all people, are somehow OK with this?"

"OK? Well, how about it? Do you think I'm into blood supremacy?"

She turned around, looking into his face, wondering if he was somehow pulling her leg, she answered dryly: "_ Yes _."

He shrugged. "Is this something I do in the future?"

She nodded, looking at him curiously. _ What was he playing at? He was blood-purity fanatical number one. That's what his whole ideology was about, wasn't it? _

Running his hand through his hair, mussing it, he seemed thoughtful. His answer was slow and deliberate. "You know the sentiments of the people around us. I can tell you, blood status doesn't mean a thing to me personally. The only things that matters to me is prowess and power. But to make a guess, I would support blood supremacy if it brings me more power. That wouldn't necessarily mean that I, personally, care about blood status. After all, I'm a Half-blood, albeit that I'm… Never mind. Besides, you're beautiful, smart, powerful and you know all these interesting things about my future. Why would I out you as a Mudblood, when you can be of so much more service to me, being the good, little liar that you are? I knew from the start that you were a wicked, little witch." He laughed a little, running his tongue along her collarbone.

She couldn't help feeling shocked, even as she shivered in pleasure. _ He didn't care about blood status? Who would ever have thought that? But then again, it made sense that his main interest was the possibility of power. His claim of her being of service of him didn't sit all that well, but then again, she supposed she should be thankful he hadn't killed her on the spot or outed her. _

Murmuring something noncommittally, she opted to change the subject. "I was wondering about Imelda Malfoy, do you know her well?"

He snorted derisively. "Well enough to not trust her. That's a Pure-blood bigot if there ever was one. She's a Gryffindor, did you know? One of the few from the Prewett family to have ever been Sorted outside Slytherin. I rather think the Sorting Hat messed up with her, though she's brave enough to a fault." Then he squeezed her hips, and she could feel him grinning into her hair. "Hermione, are you asking out of jealousy?"

His deep voice was laced with laughter, and she squirmed in his lap.

"No. Not at all!" she offered hurriedly, before smacking her face mentally when she realized her quick response was the opposite of convincing.

He laughed softly, before purring to her: "You can consider that a payback for dancing with all those groping, drooling wizards. Because you're mine, you know. And I don't share."

Something fluttered within her abdomen at that statement, and she gasped as she felt him harden again against her butt.

Xxxx

More than fifty people had spent the night in the Malfoy Manor, and the breakfast congregation felt like a continuing party. There was a buffet of tea, juice, scones, eggs done in every possible fashion, bacon, sausages, toast, butter, jam, salads, ham, roastbeef, cured salmon, sauces and fruits – even small vials of Hangover Potions for those who needed it, and Firewhisky for those who were so inclined.

Most seemed to be in a good mood, but Sebastian Lestrange was pale and scowling. As Hermione served herself with tea, she heard Cygnus asking him in a low voice: "What's wrong, did you drink too much?"

"No," Sebastian replied. Lowering his voice, he said: "I just did something that I'm not that comfortable with, come morning."

A knowing smirk spread on Cygnus' face, and he whispered back: "Imelda?"

Sebastian flinched, looking quickly around, before barely nodding, his mouth thinning.

"Don't worry, you're not the first. Remember Tom during the summer after fifth year? She couldn't keep her hands off him. Though, don't flaunt it to Abraxas. He might take offence," Cygnus said, shrugging.

Hermione almost gasped, feeling a little ill by the thought of Tom and Imelda from last night. _ So, there was a history behind her behaving like that… But the age gap! Then she realized, to Imelda, nineteen years wasn't all that bad. After all, her own husband was more than forty years her senior. But still, betraying your husband by going after young boys… She found that her respect for Imelda Malfoy was fading fast. _

"I don't care about that," Sebastian hissed. "I'm thinking about, well, _ you know who _. I feel like shit. I should never have done this, but it's so hopeless, the whole thing. I don’t blame you, mind, you took good care of her."

"What's hopeless, Sebastian?" A high, childish voice broke into the conversation, as Sebastian's eleven year old fiancé wormed her way between the two young wizards. Hermione could see that she was slight of stature, with long blond hair, and with devious, dark brown eyes.

Sebastian groaned, and said: "Nothing you'd have to worry about, Mildreda. Just stay out of it, will you?"

"Sure thing," the girl said with a smirk. "I won't tell anyone that you cheated on me with _ her. _Just you remember, my birthday's coming up in June, and I want to go to magical Rome in the summer. Your job is to make sure Mom and Dad takes me there." The girl's eyes glittered maliciously, before she gave a pretty smile to Cygnus, saying: "Do you think I'll be Sorted into Slytherin in September?"

Cygnus stared at her with something close to awe on his face before he nodded. "Yes, Mildreda, I'd be very surprised if you ended up in another House. I rather think you're cut out for Slytherin."

As the girl skipped off, Cygnus followed her with his eyes, but Sebastian hid his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes.

"Damn," Cygnus said slowly, straining his neck trying to catch more glimpses of the girl as she weaved in and out of the crowd. "That fiancé of yours is going to rule your life, Sebastian. When she's coming of age, you won't get to decide which leg you'd put first getting out of bed. You'd better prepare yourself. I have to say, I'm a little bit envious, she'll certainly be something…"

Hermione finished adding lemon to her tea, and withdrew to her table. Tom, Abraxas and Muriel were already seated. She heard Abraxas noting slyly to Tom as she sat down: "The two of you look awfully pleased this morning." Tom merely arched his eyebrows at him, staring him down.

"Congratulations", she offered to Abraxas and Muriel, not having had any opportunity last night to fight through the throng of people wanting to express their well-wishings.

Muriel gave her a small smile, and said: "Thanks, Hermione." Leaning in, she said: "I hope you'll forgive me for being an arse. From now on, I suppose we'll see more to each other."

Hermione smiled at her, gratefully, and said: "I would have done the same thing. Don't think about it. I'm really pleased it worked out for the two of you, though I have to say I'm a bit surprised."

Muriel grinned at her, saying: "So am I. But his persistence, and his remorse for being such an idiot, won me over in the end. I decided to give him a chance, though now both my family and his hate us."

"I wondered about that," Hermione said slowly. "What happened between the Weasleys and the Malfoys in the past?"

"A long story made short: At the end of the 16th century, one of the Malfoys forefathers, one Lucius Malfoy, captured, raped and married without consent a Weasley girl by the name Amalia. Amalia was only fourteen, and she was locked inside this manor without her wand, being forced to carry his son to term. After her son was born, she escaped. After that, there wasn't exactly friendly relations between the families."

Hermione felt her eyes blinking, not quite being able to take in such a story. "This … actually happened?" she said slowly.

"Yes. And Abraxas is a direct descendant of that child. The boy was never returned to Amalia, and she never saw him again in her life. But my ancestors did a good job slandering his reputation. It was after that incident everyone learned that the Malfoys were into dark magic," Muriel sniffed.

Shuddering, Hermione didn't want to think about that, but she added: "I quite understand that there's been a bit of a problem between your families."

"Yes. It's not like I feel all that welcome by Imelda and Septimus. But then again," Muriel grinned, "they didn't know we'd announce something like that. It was a complete surprise to them. I don't think they've spoken to Abraxas since the herald cried out the engagement."

"They'll come around," Abraxas intercepted. "After all, it was a major scandal when my parents were engaged because of the age gap. My mother made quite a public scene, opposing her parents, but it turned out alright."

Hermione tried to reconcile Abraxas' statement with what she'd just learned about Imelda's activities outside the marriage bed, but it made her head hurt. Her only response was a weak smile, and she felt a little disgusted.

Muriel chipped in: "No wonder, because 43 years is quite the age gap. I'd be horrified too, if it was me."

Hermione looked at Tom, and suddenly she felt naughty. "How about 53?" she asked, innocently.

Tom choked on his tea, meeting her gaze from above the rim of his cup, but Abraxas furrowed his eyebrows. "53? I haven't heard about any couples with an age gap like that. It seems very excessive, if you ask me."

"Oh," Hermione shrugged, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards, "it was just something I've heard about. I think special circumstances applied. Because, what on earth could attract a young woman to such an old man?"

Tom shot her a stern glare, but she merely gave him a wicked smile in return, enjoying his discomfort.

Joanna and Mariette joined them at the table, both looking tired.

"Did your fiancé leave yesterday, or is he still here?" Muriel asked Joanna.

"He left," the tiny black-haired witch said, stifling a yawn. "He Apparated back to his mansion. Apparently, he had some work to do today. Though, this is the first time he stayed that late at a ball with me. It was actually rather nice, getting to know him better without my parents being around. It made me feel more like we actually are engaged."

"Well, you must have enjoyed it, because I hardly saw you yesterday," Mariette said snippily.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her, realizing that Mariette maybe had felt a little lonely at the ball. Joanna being occupied with her fiancé, and herself, well, she had been dancing or keeping her attention on Tom. Exhaling softly, she felt a little bad for her friend, promising herself to make it up to her.

Xxxx

On returning home to Hogwarts, she passed Druella Black in the dungeon. The fifth year girl cowered at the sight of her, before turning to her older cousin Walburga, squeezing her hand as if in reassurance. 

Walburga just scowled at her, and Hermione realized: _ Cygnus may not want to revenge himself on me for putting his cousin to the Cruciatus, and Druella might not dare, but Walburga herself is quite another matter. _Mulling it over as she and her friends returned their suitcases to the dorm, she went through different wardings she could set on her bed to protect herself. 

As she was unpacking her clothes, Walburga slinked into the dorm, sitting down at her desk.

"Are you done, Hermione?" Joanna asked.

"Not yet, and I need to find my notes for my Potions essay" she replied.

"We'll wait for you downstairs," Mariette told her, giving her a friendly smile. Hermione felt a little relieved, understanding that her friend didn't harbor any resentment for being ignored at the ball.

As the two girls left, Walburga slammed a Silencing spell on the room, at the same time warding the door.

She rose, advancing threateningly towards Hermione. "You tortured me," she ground out, green eyes flashing.

Hermione swallowed a little, before pulling her Slytherin act together, answering: "You provoked me. Why didn’t you defend yourself? If you’re so helpless, you shouldn't keep such company on your own." She sniffed disdainfully, masking her worry at Walburga's threatening glare with an arrogant sneer.

Walburga hissed at her: "You are such a whore! You only did it to impress him." Suddenly, her wand was in her hand, and she pointed it at Hermione, firing a Stunner right at her.

Hermione quickly Summoned her wand, but had no time to block the Stunning charm. 

Consequently, she was blasted back onto her bed in a shower of red sparks, and all went black.

Xxxx

"Hermione, Hermione!" The voices seemed to come from afar, and she felt as if she was slowly swimming through murky water to reach a faint light in the distance.

"Oh poor Hermione, who would have done something like that? We have to get her to the Hospital Wing quickly, no one must see her." The whispers were low and frantic, and she felt unease building. _ What had happened? _

Opening her eyes, squinting at the too bright light, she saw the horrified faces of Mariette and Joanna.

"Oh, it's going to be alright, darling," Mariette said tremulously, her hand stretching out to Hermione, before it dropped down, helplessly.

Groggily, Hermione sat up, feeling as if her body had taken a sound beating. Looking down at herself, she jumped at the sight of her naked body. _ Naked? How on earth…! _Then she realized there was something odd with the sight, and slowly she understood that she was hairless, completely so. All of her body was completely hairless, and her scalp was freezing too. She whispered faintly: "What did she do to me?"

"Who did it?" Joanna asked.

"Walburga, obviously. Is… is… all my hair gone?"

"Yes," Mariette nodded. "Your eyebrows too."

Lifting her hands to feel her scalp, she shivered at the odd, tingling feeling of her fingers touching her bare skin. Blinking, she asked the girls: "Is there anything else you see? Bruises, warts, anything?"

"No," Joanna said shocked. "This is enough damage, I would imagine. Get some clothes on, and we'll take you to the Hospital wing for regrowth."

Groaning, she moved to find some clothes.

Xxxx

The regrowth was painless, but unfortunately, it tickled badly. Hermione found herself having continuing fits of giggles, irritating the school nurse, Madam Fitchwitch, to no end.

"Keep your voice down, Miss Granger, because you're going to wake the dead with your hysterical laughter. I must remind you, this is a place for people who are ill, and giggling loudly like that disturbs my other patients."

Trying to hold down her laughter, she busied her mind with thinking about Walburga. She supposed she should count herself lucky as the spell damage wasn't irreversible. _ But then again, by that silly code of honour, was she now expected to get revenge? _ That could, ultimately, lead to a blood feud between herself and the Black family, and that wasn't something Hermione would want on her hands. _ Unless, of course, she did something so atrocious that Walburga would stay away, or maybe something that would make her stay away anyway _… 

Another fit of giggles broke out due to the tickling regrowth, turning into a howl of laughter, as her mind spun furiously.

Feeling a little sick, she couldn't quite come to terms with herself planning a rather devious revenge while _ giggling _like a madman. The fact that the giggling was merely physical didn't really console her.

Snorting aggressively, Madam Fitchwitch gave up on her, force-feeding her a vial of Sleeping Draught, but Hermione continued giggling until sleep took over her body.

Xxxx

She woke with ideas tumbling through her brain, her mind working as in a feverish state, and she got her clothes on and tore out of the infirmary. Feeling famished, she decided to get a bit of breakfast to feed her brain. She almost slammed into Tom at the door, and he quirked his eyebrows at her, saying: "You're in a hurry." Stopping her for a moment to twirl one of her curls between his fingers, he asked: "So, what are you going to do about _ this _?"

He was genuinely curious, she could tell. She flashed him a bright smile, saying: "Oh, you know me. I have something planned. You'll see." 

Tearing free from him, she hurried over to the Slytherin table, wolfing down her breakfast. He slid down beside her, looking carefully at her.

"What's going on?" he inquired.

She shook her head, saying absentmindedly: "Nothing. I'm fine."

Clearly, he didn't believe that, as the next thing he did was trying to invade her mind again. Smiling at him between the bites of her toast, she rebutted him at every turn. The fact that she successfully and repeatedly kept the young Dark Lord out of her head cheered up her mood immensely, and by the time she ran out of the Great Hall to be extra early for Potions, she was grinning.

Xxxx

"Professor Slughorn!" she panted, clutching the stitch in her side, standing almost doubled over in front of his desk. The classroom was fortunately empty, and Slughorn peered up from the stack of essays he was grading.

"Whatever is the matter, Hermione?" The professor gave her a worried glance, seeing her red, flustered face. "I do hope you're feeling alright..?"

"Oh, I was just running over here, hoping to catch a word with you alone." Her breath still came in uneven gasps, but at least she managed to stand straight. "You see, I have an idea for a new potion that I'd like to research. Could you point me in the direction of books, any materials on brewing defensive potions?"

"Defensive potions? Are you thinking along the lines of prophylactic antidotes?" Slughorn's eyes sparked with interest.

"No, actually, I have an idea of altering a Love potion, making it impossible to hurt someone with intent instead."

His mouth dropped into a surprised O, and his chin wobbled. "Errr, Hermione, that is certainly a novel and very interesting idea, but have you considered the ramifications of such a potion? People would be defenseless if the one administrating the potion had evil intents."

"Yes, I know. But in the hands of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement it could be a powerful tool. Instead of sending a perpetrator to Azkaban for repeated crimes towards the same victim, they could just give him or her the potion, and while they would still hold grudges, they'd not be able to hurt their victim!" The words spilled out of her, almost uncontrollably, reflecting the feverish state of her thoughts.

"I can see that line of thinking." Mulling it over for a second, Slughorn nodded to himself. "This is a very good idea, Hermione," he admitted grudgingly. "It's dangerous, but I won't stand in your way. Still, you need to promise me, Hermione, not to tell any of your school mates about this. If you succeed, we will inform the Ministry, and only them. And Hermione, not telling also include Tom Riddle. You should look for works in the library by Hesper Starkey and Zygmunt Budge, especially, and of course, though _ you _ surely know that, Dagworth-Granger’s work on Love potions…"

She nodded at him, pleased to get his cooperation. _ And seriously, she had no intention of ever telling Tom Riddle of this. Or else, the wizarding world as she knew it was doomed. _

Xxxx

She tore through the instructions for the Restoration Potion, brewing it in record time. Raising her hand after bottling her sample, waving eagerly, she got Professor Slughorn's attention.

"Are you all done, Hermione?" Her professor peered at her cauldron, and sniffed the contents of her flask. "Very well done! Ten points to Slytherin. You're free to leave after you've cleaned up," 

Slughorn added. "I imagine you'd like to visit the library?"

Beaming at him, she nodded, cleaning up her working space quickly before running off.

Xxxx

In the next few days, she barricaded herself in the library, going so far as to Disillusion herself to avoid questions. The creative flow burned through her, occupying her thoughts at all times. She had never realized that a creative obsession could feel so good, and she almost didn't sleep nor eat, and spending time with her friends or doing schoolwork felt like a waste of time. Her test brews simmered in the Room of Requirement in various states of failure and with varying degrees of almost-successes, but she found that the incomplete brews just spurred her on to try different approaches.

Being essentially a bookworm, she rarely had such creative bouts, though it had been known to happen. Usually it manifested in a more calm, analytical fashion like when she had made the DADA coins. She snorted to herself: _ If only the people from her future life had seen her now, they'd have to swallow their spiteful words on "only regurgitating textbooks." Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, Professor Snape and basically everyone she had ever known at school included! _

Her friends complained that she was much too busy, and Tom watched her with narrowed eyes, repeatedly asking if her actions had anything to do with Walburga.

She gave him the same answer, time after time, with a wink: "You'll see."

He sighed exasperatedly, before he one day informed her: "Next Saturday I'll call a meeting, and you'd better be ready with whatever it is you're planning."

That very night, she had a breakthrough, realizing that the potion would need to be combined with a spell. _ Runes, _ she thought, barely barring herself from exclaiming it out loud, sneaking into out of bed and barreling into the Room of Requirement to practice. _ And yes, maybe she finally was ready! _

Xxxx

As she stood over Walburga's bed in the early hours of the morning, ensconced inside the drawn bed curtains, the heavy green velvet hiding her from view, she marveled at her work. _ It felt like she had spent a long time creating this potion, but it was actually less than a week. She supposed what she was attempting to do would be considered dark, as she was testing an untried potion on an unwilling subject, but she was very sure that she had got it right. And, _ her mouth contorted a little _ , she absolutely couldn't find it in her to test on an animal, beast or being. In that respect, she felt much more at ease testing it on Walburga. At least, that bitch had it coming. _

The girl in the bed slept soundly, her mouth half open and her eyelids fluttering slightly. Her long, dark, silky hair was splayed on her pillow, framing her beautifully pale face.

Preparing herself, Hermione yanked out a hair from her head, inserting it into her vial. As it turned a murky green, she cast a Silencing spell around the bed as not to wake Mariette and Joanna. She then proceeded to cast another Silencing spell on Walburga to hinder any attempts of spoken incantations in defense, before taking a deep breath, trying to calm her galloping heartbeats.

At her whispered "_I__ncarcerous! _" Walburga's green eyes sprang open as she felt the ropes tying her up, and she gave off a startled gasp. She immediately started struggling, glaring up at Hermione, her mouth working soundlessly. 

Hermione smiled down at her, seeing fear bloom in the girl's eyes. Gently, she took hold of her head, forcing her mouth open, tipping the murky contents of her vial into Walburga's mouth, firmly closing it and stroking her throat to force the swallowing reflexes. The angry glare of the girl deepened, as she reluctantly gulped down the contents.

Bringing out her wand, Hermione traced the runes "_Eihwaz_" and "_N__audiz_" into the air, and as the blue-glittering runes manifested and sank into Walburga's brow, the girl's eyes rolled back, only the whites showing. Arching her back as if in pain, it lasted only a moment, leaving no visible signs on her pale face.

As Hermione released both the Incarcerous and the Silencing spell on Walburga, the girl snarled and quickly Summoned her wand. Pointing it at Hermione, she yelled "_ Reducto! _" Instead, the curse blasted back at Walburga herself. She smacked into the bedframe, before she became very still.

Hermione smiled grimly, pleased at her own success. The combined potion and spell reacted just the way she had predicted, turning the spells back on the caster.

Furrowing her brow, she gave Walburga a concerned glance, running a quick diagnostic spell on her. Concluding that the girl was mostly fine, albeit knocked out, she gently tucked her underneath the covers, smoothing a few strands of long, black hair from her brow. Before she turned away, she flipped off a whispered "_ Obliviate" _at her, erasing the memory of the incident from Walburga's mind.

Sitting down in her own bed behind her drawn curtains, she felt drained. It was as if all the nervous energy that had kept her going all week had left her at the completion of the spell. _ It had worked_. _ This spell would ensure that there would be no blood feud between her and Walburga. _The girl wouldn't be able to harm her, and she wouldn't remember what Hermione had done to her either. 

Hermione shivered violently, feeling as she was coming up with a fever. Pulling her covers around her, she laid down. _ I should be ashamed. I have created and used a Potion with malicious intent. A powerful, dark spell, making a fellow human being powerless against me. I should feel remorse and disgust. _ But inside her was only the familiar, hollow ache where _ something _ should have been.

Xxxx

"Professor Slughorn?" she inquired again just before a Potion class. "I have to tell you, I researched my project like I told you. And I do believe it would work, but the ethical concerns you brought up has been growing on me. I realize you're right. I'll abandon the project, and I thank you for opening my eyes." Her eyes were downcast, but she looked at him between her lashes. _ Would her blatant flattery work? _

His face broke into a wide grin at that. "My dear Hermione, of course! I must say, I was excited, but those concerns shouldn't be taken lightly. No, no, don't tell me – I would have loved to see what you made of it, but I won't ask. Some things are better left in the dark."

Hermione winced a little at that, before she gave him a small smile, faking relief. "Oh, thanks Professor! I was worried you would think me a coward, but now I'm convinced I did the right thing."

Through the exchange, Tom had watched her with interest. When Slughorn moved on, he murmured into her ear: "Has this anything to do with Walburga?"

"You'll see," she replied - again, winking at him. His eyes slowly lit up as he looked from her to Slughorn. Pulling her into his arms, he whispered into her hair: "You devious, little minx".

Xxxx

At lunch, Mariette and Joanna pulled her down between them.

"We've hardly seen you in the last week. What _ have _ you been up to?" Mariette said.

"I had this idea for a potion, actually creating a potion," she answered truthfully. "And I got a little carried away with it. But then I talked to Slughorn, and he made me realize that this potion could be used to harm people. My intention was completely opposite," she hastened to assure them, "but I understood that he was right. So, I've abandoned the idea."

Seeing both girls look stunned, she smiled a little nervously at them.

"You… were going to _ invent _ a potion?" Joanna said, skeptically.

"Yes. Is that so odd?"

The two girls looked at each other, before Mariette murmured: "And here we thought you were sneaking into empty classrooms with Tom, while you actually were doing academic research. Hermione, I'm impressed, but seriously, you're a bit scary."

Hermione tried to give them a reassuring smile, but the two of them still seemed overwhelmed. In the resulting quiet, she heard Tom asking Edmund and Sebastian: "And the two of you have taken care of your tasks? Everything has to be ready for Saturday. I won't be lenient if something's missing."

Both boys nodded a little fearfully, and she wondered: _ Did he have something out of the ordinary planned for the meeting? _

Xxxx

Late Saturday night, she was walking into the Forbidden Forest with Tom and his Slytherins. She felt a little uneasy, unpleasant thoughts of Aragog and his family looming in her mind. The moon was full, and a bitter chill wind swept over the Hogwarts grounds. Entering the forest proper was a relief, as the trees shielded them from the cold gusts.

Tom was quiet and brooding at the head of their little column, and she walked in the middle of the group with Sebastian, trying to keep up with his long strides. Breaking the silence, she whispered at him: "How come there's only Walburga, Druella and me in this group, and the rest of you are boys?"

Sebastian snorted. "How many girls do you know that would fit in? Most girls are more concerned with how they look than increasing their magical powers, or else they lack a certain … ruthlessness. Take your two friends, for example. Both of them have quite good marks, but they are simply too kind and well-meaning. They could never in a lifetime perform a Cruciatus like you did. So, that's why. Everyone here, is hand-picked by Tom."

"Oh," she said, retreating back into silence. _ She had thought it to be something about family connections of blood status, but clearly, the criteria was more a certain mindset and a thirst for knowledge. She felt uncomfortable, being classified as similar to the Black cousins. _Speaking of the Blacks, she suddenly heard Walburga yell loudly behind her. Everyone turned, and to their surprise Walburga was sprawled on the ground, looking astounded.

Tom moved back through the ranks to her, hissing: "Waking up half the forest, are you? What part of quiet didn't you understand?"

Walburga just blinked at him, mouth opening and closing in shock.

Edmund cleared his voice, saying: "Erm, I was walking behind her. It seemed like she attempted a Leg-locker curse, but then something odd happened. It turned back at her. She actually Leg-Locked herself, though I can't for the life of me understand why."

Tom stared at him, and shook his head at Walburga. "If you can't even keep from cursing yourself, I suggest giving up your wand into Cygnus' care. _ Expelliarmus!" _

Walburga's wand sailed into Tom's hand, and he thrust it at Cygnus, who gingerly accepted it. 

Tom threw a casual Stinging Hex at Walburga, and she flinched. "Now, be quiet," he said, striding forward again, giving Hermione a brief, questioning glance.

Hermione couldn’t help smiling. 

Xxxx

Entering a small, shadowy glade, Tom stopped in the middle. Hermione noted that there was a large, whitish pentagram drawn in the middle, and there was a tall buildup of firewood in the middle. From the outskirts of the glade, in the shadows under the trees, she heard snuffling sounds from three large, moving mounds.

Stopping in front of the pentagram, Tom said: "Friends, tonight we're going to go deeper into dark magic. I told you earlier this year that I'd like to try creating Inferis." A drawn-out gasp was heard throughout the group, and Hermione saw to her relief that she wasn't the only one looking with horror to those mounds. _ Would he kill someone tonight? _

"Of course, we won't create any Inferis tonight," he continued, an amused smirk on his face. "As some of you might know, the creation of Inferis is a two step ritual. First, we need to make the _ Culter Inferi _, meaning the Inferi knife. This knife is a necessary first step, and it's more complicated than creating the Inferis themselves. That part, after all, is quite easy: Just a kill, then a stab with the knife and a quick reviving spell."

He continued, saying with a cold, appraising look: "Sebastian and Edmund helped with some of the preparations. Sebastian have gathered bones from the Hogsmeade graveyard for our pentagram." 

Several in the group gasped. Hermione strained her eyes to scrutinize the pentagram, and horror slithered down her spine as she saw that it was, indeed, made of human bones. _Long,_ _bleached leg-bones_, _ribs_, _all laid out in the symmetry of the pentagram. And so many bones. It had to be hundreds._

She shuddered, and as her eyes involuntarily slid to Sebastian, she couldn't quite keep the revulsion out of her face. He looked straight ahead, showing no emotions at all, but his Adams apple bobbed convulsively, like he was fighting an urge to cry - or maybe laugh hysterically. 

Tom moved to put his hand at Edmunds shoulder, squeezing it. "Edmund, he has struggled to find our … participants … for this ritual. I imagine, they both had quite a difficult week," and he gestured to the mounds under the trees. 

At his gesture, fabric slithered off the mounds, revealing three bound, muffled and struggling figures. Hermione saw that it was an Acromantula, laying on its back with its legs bound tightly together, a Thestral, hobbled and wings tied to its body, and a merman, gagged and doubled up almost covered in ropes.

_ No, _ she thought, panic rising inside. _ No, I won't be a part of this, whatever that's going to happen. _ But she stood still, along with the rest of her friends, _ all of them_, she thought, _ mutely fighting their horror_. 

Narrowing her eyes, she saw that she was at least partly wrong. She noted that Dolohov was excited, while Crabbe and Goyle seemed undisturbed. Walburgas eyes were shining, and Hermione got an uncomfortable flashback to Bellatrix Lestrange. Druella merely looked interested, but Abraxas curled his mouth in disgust. Cygnus looked visibly sick, and he muttered to himself: "Merlin, it's going to be like that fucking Centaur all over. Merlin."

Tom Levitated the three bound figures into the middle of the pentagram, situating them close to the pile of firewood in the middle. 

"You all will stay out of the pentagram," Tom warned them sternly. "You will, however, focus your magic on holding your designated point of the pentagram in place. It might be prone to moving and slithering. I'll pair you up like this, and you'll work together: Druella and Cygnus at that point, Antonin and Hermione at that point, Walburga – yes, Cygnus, you may return her wand to her – with Edmund, Marvin and Abraxas there, Sebastian and Edward closing the pentagram over there. I don't have to tell you that letting the pentagram slip in the middle of such a ritual might be a very disturbing experience – to all of us. Who knows what we might release into the world?"

Hermione shivered again, but as she walked up to her point of the star, she was disgusted by Dolohov's leer. _ Merlin, he's just as revolting as he is fifty years later, _ she thought, feeling as if her curse scar itched by his proximity. _ He can’t hurt you. You can take him out, if you want to, _she thought, reassuring herself. 

_ And those poor beasts! She was quite certain that Tom would kill them, and she didn't know how she could stop this without destroying her cause. Anxiety gnawed at her, and she felt sick. She had to go along with it, she had to. The Greater Good, the Greater Good, it's all for the Greater Good, _ her mind chanted at her. 

She saw the merman's eyes rove pleadingly from face to face, and the Thestral's eyes were panicky, the white in its black eyes showing. The Acromantula - well, it wasn't that easy to read, but she rather thought that the clicking of its pinchers sounded frenzied.

"We should hold hands to strengthen the intent," Dolohov said in his deep voice, and she shuddered.

"No thanks, I'll manage," she said dryly. "You hold your own, and I'll do my part."

He licked his lips briefly, and his eyes darkened. "Feisty one, aren't you?" He grabbed her hand and bent closer to her: "You're lucky Tom has claimed you, or else I would love to make you scream."

Her eyes shooting daggers at him, she tried to wrench her hand free, but to no avail, he was too strong physically. Then a silence fell in the clearing as Tom stepped inside to pentagram, and the firewood immediately lit up. _ It isn't a fire_, Hermione thought, _ it's a pyre_. 

Dolohov's clammy hand forgotten for a moment, she just watched the tall, young wizard standing very erect inside the pentagram.

Tom produced a lump of iron from his robe, Conjuring a pair of tongs, gripping the lump, holding it with his left hand. Then he stood still, closing his eyes, and she could see he gathered his magic, his pale wand twirling between his fingers of his right hand. Then he opened his eyes, and she was shocked to see the red glint in them. _ Was it merely a reflection of the fire, or something else…? _

He lifted the iron high up in the air, crying out: "_Initi Genere Cultro Inferius!" _

Blue fires suddenly danced along the bones of the pentagram, white, stiff shapes almost writhing and cracking underneath the magical flames, almost bending the points of the stars out of shape. She focused her magic on keeping the shape, and to her surprise, she felt Dolohov's magic supporting her own. It was like a pillar of strength she could draw on, while she directed the magic _–_ _both of their magics – _to the task of keeping the pentagram still.

Glancing at the wizard in the middle, she saw Tom breathing heavily. He lowered his wand to the burning pile of firewood, swishing a circle that took the shape of a downpouring waterfall around it, and with a flick of his wand he moved the beasts inside the waterfall. The water made a continuous rushing noise, and Hermione felt the air grow colder around her, like the waters came straight out of a glacier.

Tom stepped into the waterfall himself, and though visibility became poor once he was inside, she could see that both he, the Merman, the Acromantula and the Thestral were drenched. His whisper carried over the rushing waters: "_Star made Iron, Poison, Water and Death I bequeath to you, to be born of Fyre._" 

Slashing his wand at the fire, he shouted: "_Fyre Magno!" _

Hermione stiffened as Fiendfyre erupted inside the watery circle, monstrous figures darting towards line of the water and back into the middle, not breaking free, fighting the containment inside the ring of water. Through the crackling heat and roar of flames, she heard several of her companions yell, and she fought back with her magic as the blue flames on the bone pentagram tried to shift and break the shape. Her body felt as if it were alternating between sweating from the heat of the Fiendfyre and freezing from the ice-cold gusts from the water.

Inside the heavily pouring waterfall, she could see Tom lift a shaking hand with the tongs and the lump of iron into the Fiendfyre. With his wand, he shaped the melting iron into the form of a knife. At first it was a glowing, red hot color, before it gradually turned blindingly white. Tom held it a moment longer, his face an excruciating mask of pain and concentration, before he turned, making a three-split "_Diffindo." _

The Severing Charm neatly cut off the heads of the Thestral and the Merman from their bodies, and the Acromantula was split up in the middle. The spurting blood from their still twitching bodies mixed into the pouring waterfall, coloring the water red, the redness somehow spreading upwards in the downpour. With a final grimace, Tom plunged the glowing knife into the blood-drenched water, quenching the heat of it with a sinister, hissing sound.

Hermione felt as if she was stuck in a nightmare, her mind not wanting to register those awful deaths, shying away from what she was sure should be feelings of disgust and a righteous anger. She barely noticed that both the the Fiendfyre and the bluish flames of the pentagram flared high up, before Tom yelled "_ Reanima Cultro!" _ lifting the knife high above his head – and then all went dark _ . _

She still saw the fires dancing behind her eyelids, though she was fairly certain that her eyes were open. After a short while, someone provided a light with a whispered "_ Lumos _", and she could see Tom on his knees, panting heavily. Both the Fiendfyre, the bodies and the waterfall were gone, as well as the bone pentagram.

The rest of the Slytherins stood in deathly silence, not moving, observing their shivering leader in the middle. Only Abraxas held out his wand, holding the flickering flame of the Lumos to light up the scene, the forest deathly quiet around them.

Hermione hesitated, but stumbled forward to Tom. As he looked up at her, she could see that his dark eyes had little specks of red. He was pale, soaking wet and bloodied, shivering with cold, but she could tell, very pleased. She cast a warming charm, drying his clothes, and said quietly with bile in her throat: "You made it."

He closed his eyes, drawing a shaky breath as her hand stroked his hair, answering: "It was close. So many simultaneous spells, I almost lost it. But I did it." 

He opened his hand to her, showing her the gleaming black blade with a white bone handle. 

The edge had pressed a slice into his palm, and his blood dripped slowly down into the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know any latin – I only mangle (with intent) words that Google translates for me. If you do know latin, please don't kill me.


	15. The Thrumming of a First Class Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I bespelled my Time-Turner. It's a horrible spell, the ‘Tempus Sacrificio’."
> 
> Dumbledore frowned, but said: "I'm afraid I don't know that spell, Hermione. Tell me, does it require a sacrifice?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trouble is brewing in paradise. This chapter is a bit on the dark side too, and it's mainly full of anger. I apologize in advance…
> 
> Thanks for udos, subscriptions, booksmars and comments! <3

Walking back with the rest of the Slytherins, she felt numb: Numbed by the amount of magic that had washed over them, numbed by her horror of witnessing innocent creatures die, numbed by her own powerlessness in preventing it. 

And all had happened to create an instrument of evil designed to bring about even more suffering and torture. She barely registered that the tall trees were thinning around them, the pale moonlight brightening up their path again, and the hulking shadow of Hogwarts appearing in view. The mood in the group was subdued, though their effort was successful.

She did note though, as they walked, Tom’s arm around her shoulders grew heavier, and he gradually supported more of his weight on her. Reaching the outskirts of the castle grounds, he stopped, ordering the group to split up and Disillusion themselves as they made their way back to the dungeon. His fingers squeezing into her shoulder, he held her back until everyone had disappeared.

Grunting, he sagged against her.

"Are you alright?" her voice was but a whisper.

"No," he said, equally feebly. His eyes looked down at her, and she could see a grimace of pain.

"Are you just exhausted, or is there something wrong?"

"Mainly tired, but … there are also after-effects of such a ritual." His mouth thinned, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"What do you need me to do?"

His breath came faster, and she could tell he was uncomfortable with what he was going to say. After a short while, he ground out: "Help me."

Blinking at him, she almost didn't understand – but then it dawned on her. _ He never asked for help. He was completely self-sufficient, and she realized that for him, admitting to needing help must have cost him dearly. _

Feeling something catch in her throat, she replied huskily: "Of course. Room of Requirement?" She figured, he wouldn't want anyone seeing him in such a state.

He nodded. She Disillusioned them both, and slowly, they made their way back to the castle.

Xxxx

Some time later, she sat in a large, four-poster bed that the Room had provided. He was already asleep, and she could only see his dark, mussed hair, the rest of him was deeply buried beneath the covers.

Hermione tried to take stock of her emotions, but found herself mostly empty. The ritual was worse than she had expected, and she felt a pinch of bitter sadness at the deaths she had witnessed, plus a simmering anger at the unnecessity of it all. 

She wondered if the merman had had a family, and she felt a weak pang of regret, thinking about the Thestral herds. It was a bit harder to feel anything for the Acromantula, but she supposed it didn't deserve an ending like that. But she did feel a little sad for Sebastian, forced into grave robbery, and Edmund, having to capture those creatures. None of them had seemed to enjoy their tasks. 

_ Raising the dead… _Her gaze moved to the unmoving figure stretched out in their bed.

She shouldn't have been surprised he had tried his hand at Necromancy, but she did feel a shiver of fear at the level of magic he already commanded. _ Controlling Fiendfyre, constricting it within a Conjured waterfall, shaping the knife with magic and killing the beasts at the same time. It was simply fearsome. _

At the same time, her fear was warring with something she didn't want to acknowledge. He trusted her, enough to show her weakness, enough to let her take care of him in a vulnerable state. _ Why did it make her feel warm and fuzzy inside? By all rights, she should have screamed at him and cursed him, not tucking him in and keeping him safe. _

Hermione sighed to herself. It was a betrayal to Harry, to the Order and their cause, to even entertain such thoughts for a moment. She willed up images of her future friends and family to strengthen her resolve, but the only result was a feeble flicker of regret – almost as if they were people she barely was acquainted to.

Swallowing, she tried to force her feelings to manifest, but all she could feel was that empty space inside her. All her emotions seemed to be tied to the life she led here in the forties, and her future life seemed like something that had happened to a stranger. As a tear fell down on her hand, she realized that it was born out of her frustration, not her grief of her lost life. _ She had to find out why, but who could help her understand? _

Xxxx

Sunday at noon, she woke up by the feel of something nuzzling her neck. As she turned around, she saw that his eyes were closed, but his face was pinched. Feeling worried, she asked: "Are you alright?"

He opened his eyes fully, and she was oddly relieved to see that those red specks were gone.

"Yes, just tired," he said curtly, sitting up.

_ Oh, apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, _she thought by judging his reaction.

As she sat up herself, their eyes locked, and the silence became awkward. It felt as if the minutes were ticking away, and yet, none of them would break away. In the end, he gave an irritated snort, and turned his head with a grimace. She looked down in her lap, feeling oddly unsure.

Then he said, with a stiff formality, not meeting her gaze: "Thank you." It sounded as he dragged the words out, and he moved hurriedly out of the bed, dressing himself with magic. He glanced quickly around, and found the newly made knife at the nightstand, putting it in his pocket. Still not meeting her eyes, he cleared his throat, saying: "I better get going."

And by that, he left, leaving her sitting in the bed, open-mouthed and vexed by his strange behavior.

Xxxx

At lunch in the Great Hall, he ignored her. Shrugging at his unusual behavior, she tiredly sat down with her friends.

Scandalized, Joanna leaned in to her, whispering: "Where were you tonight, Hermione – and at breakfast? Were you with _ him?" _

Mariette's expression was eager, too, and she whispered even more softly: "Was it any good?"

"What, no! No such thing happened," Hermione said flustered. Here she was berating herself on her inability to save magical creatures, and her friends thought she had spent the night doing … things … with Tom Riddle.

"What did you do?"

"I … fell asleep in the library," she said lamely, but it was clearly not convincing.

"As if..!" Joanna scoffed, giving her a hurt look. "You can tell us, you know. We're your friends!"

Hermione looked down at her plate, moving her fork aimlessly through her salad. _ There was absolutely no way she could tell her sweet, trusting friends that she had joined Tom Riddle in a dark ritual, killing three magical creatures to create a knife for making Inferis. No way at all. _

"Errr…" she stuttered, trying to wrack her brain into finding a believable lie, but then she noticed something that made her jaw fall open.

"Didn't see you in the dorm last night, Tom," Abraxas joked lightly, looking at Tom. "Were you busy?"

The Head Boy gave Abraxas a wicked smirk, before he waved his hand suggestively. "Oh, you know. I had reason to celebrate." 

The boys roared with laughter, and then Tom noticed her looking. He gave her a cold glare, before turning back to his friends. "You know, sometimes it's just too easy to get what I want. Easy come, easy go, as they say," he said darkly. "It bores me. l feel like I'm ready for something new." Some of the boys sniggered, and Antonin Dolohov gave her a considering look, pursing his lips.

As Hermione felt a hand patting her comfortingly on the shoulder, she realized that her expression must have been one of shock. _ What did he mean? She had helped him at his request, she hadn't allowed him… _

Her train of thoughts were interrupted by Joanna's low voice: "It's always like this, Hermione. You're the only one he's had a lasting interest in, you know. You should be proud of yourself. I'm sorry if this should be the end of it, it looked like the two of you could be on your way to something more."

"But…but," she sputtered, "I haven't let him _ do _that."

Mariette smiled at her, pity in her eyes. "Oh, Hermione. We know you shared a room at the Malfoy Manor, and last night… Well, as we told you, he loses interest after, well, you know what, so you need to prepare yourself, thought I sincerely hope otherwise."

"It isn't true, we didn't!" she protested, keeping down her voice. But as she looked at her friends, she understood that _ no one _ would believe her. They would all think that Tom Riddle had fucked her and then left her, just like he had done with countless other girls. 

In her stomach, she could feel anger simmering, bubbling, heating up slowly, and all that warm fuzziness from earlier evaporated quickly. She realized that because of her plans for him, she had pretended to be just as bad as his followers to get close to him, doing unspeakable acts in the process - _ doing things that were completely wrong, according to her own moral compass. _

Now, he was prepared to make her look like a lovesick fool for all the school to see – for no reason at all. _ Oh, how she hated his arrogant, beautiful face right now. _ As his cold eyes grazed over her, she realized, he had definitively dropped the boyfriend act.

A loud harrumph from behind the table made everyone turn around.

"Tom, m'boy," professor Slughorn said, looking worn and tired. "We are looking for the cause of a major, magical disturbance in the Forbidden Forest last night. The Headmaster got a missive from the Centaurs, telling that they were worried about dark magic being wielded. Would you be so kind as to find out if any of the students were out of bed last night?"

"Certainly, sir," Tom said. Hermione scowled at his perfect act of an innocent schoolboy, eager to please his teachers. "But," he said slowly, "it might be difficult to get a good answer from the other Houses, especially Gryffindor. I do hope you will enlist the Head Girl in the research too?"

"Of course, Tom, what an excellent suggestion. I'll speak with professor Dumbledore on the matter." Slughorn smiled, before he waddled off towards the Head table. Hermione could swear, that whatever Tom could say to Slughorn, the response would always be "excellent." It didn't make her expression any sunnier.

"Hermione," Mariette whispered furiously. "Did you and Tom go into the Forbidden Forest?"

She shook her head mutely, suddenly worried again. _ What on earth would she tell them apart from the truth that didn't include Tom Riddle pawing all over her? _

Then _ he _ came to her rescue, leaning over to Mariette: "I can tell you that, there was no forest involved in what we were doing last night." His grin was devilish, and one of his dark locks made it into his eyes, before he brushed it away.

Mariette became wide-eyed, and she turned to Hermione. "At least, I'm happy that you didn't go out to do dark magic." Her eyes were sincere, and that was what broke Hermione's patience. _ No one believed her. Not even her friends, and no wonder, when that lying bastard wanted to make a point of telling everyone that he had had her. _She stood up, grabbing her book bag and stalked out of the Great Hall. An infuriating, silky chuckle seemed to follow her across the floor.

Xxxx

"Will you help me find Maastricht-Berryland's book '_1001 Magical European Herbs' _?" Mariette's eyes pleaded with her, and Hermione had to smile.

"What's the problem? Is it hiding again?" she replied.

The sigh that emerged was answer enough, and Hermione rose from her table in the library, following Mariette into the Herbology section. The book in question was a quite popular reference, but unfortunately, it didn't seem to enjoy its popularity, frequently hiding and obscuring itself from view on the shelves.

As they perused the shelves, looking for the brownish haze the book seemed to prefer as a means to hiding, Mariette said: "Sometimes, I guess it would be easier to be a Muggle student. At least, their books stay where they're supposed to be."

Hermione snorted, thinking of how her father had run in circles trying to find his glasses. The notion that Muggles had an easier life was ridiculous, in her humble opinion. No Summoning Charm, no magical regrowth of broken limbs, no Apparating...

Her thoughts were disturbed by whispers on the other side of the shelf.

"She gave me a disease," a voice hissed angrily. "I swear, my crotch is full of red, itching rashes!"

Another voice gave a small snort. "Like I said, go see Madam Fitchwitch! She'll sort it out in no time."

Hermione stilled, realizing the voices belonged to Sebastian and Cygnus. She gave a quick glance at Mariette, seeing the girl blanch, and squeezing her eyes shut. Hermione reached out her hand, giving her a reassuring pat on the arm.

"Don't you know? She'll make me tell who the … _ woman _ is, for the medical register. It'll be embarrassing to no end. I knew it was all wrong," Sebastian's whisper continued. "But then, you know, between that evil, little chit of a fiancée of mine, and you drooling over HER the whole night, I guess I was just too angry to care when Imelda approached me."

"You know, I don't fancy Mariette, I was just trying to be a gentleman," Cygnus protested.

"Still, I feel like hell since that night," Sebastian muttered darkly.

"So, you didn't enjoy it at all? After what I've heard, she is rather ... accomplished, in that respect." Cygnus' voice had a teasing note.

Sebastian only groaned by way of reply, before he hissed: "Well, yes obviously, but if I had known about the rash and everything, I'd have turned her down!"

"But you didn't, little horny bastard that you are," Cygnus stated, the laughter in his voice audible.

Hermione shot a look at Mariette, and saw that she had pressed her lips tightly together, before she brushed away a single tear. She looked back at Hermione, before she straightened herself.

"Oh, there it is," she said loudly, taking the elusive book out of the shelf. "Thank you for helping me, Hermione."

The voices on the other side stilled abruptly. Mariette walked proudly forward, and Hermione followed her, feeling more than a little awkward. As they turned the corner of the shelf, Mariette glanced at the boys, nodding to them.

Sebastian looked pale and stricken, and he reached out a hand to Mariette, letting it fall limply to his side by her ice-cold glare.

"Sebastian," the young witch said haughtily. "I heard you enjoyed yourself the other night. Do go to see Madam Fitchwitch. It would be such a shame if you infected innocent girls with a disease from your ... friend's _ mother_." 

She sniffed, turned around and said: "Come, Hermione. We wouldn't interfere with a medical situation. I suppose Sebastian need to leave before the rash spreads."

Hermione felt so proud of Mariette. Even though she obviously was hurt, she held it together with pure pride.

Xxxx

She stomped through the Entrance Hall on her way to lunch, her mood not being better after a long stint of revising for her Household exams. Suddenly, she was turned abruptly around by someone grabbing her arm. Looking up at Tom, it suddenly was as if his face was all hard planes and angles.

"I'm expecting you and the others in the dungeon at six o'clock today," his eyes were black and cold. "We need a debrief."

"Oh, do we," she sneered. "Are you sure I have to be there? You might get _ bored _, you know."

His mouth quirked a little, but his eyes became even darker. "Yes," he said firmly. Leaning in, he hissed to her: "You will be there, if I have to drag you down into the dungeons by myself, bored or not."

She met his eyes, full on, her anger thrumming in her veins. "No," she said in a low, controlled whisper.

"Yes," he said, equally low, eyes burning into her.

"I won't be a part of your plan to terrorize the wizarding and muggle population with Inferis to scare everyone into obedience. It's vile!" she hissed.

"Who said anything about terrorizing the population?" he said cocking his eyebrows, his voice deep and silky.

She stared at him, realizing she unwittingly had given him another glimpse into the future. "No one," she said curtly.

"You just did," he said, looking at her. "Have you seen Inferis, Hermione?"

"No." Her glare was meant to drive him off, but instead he moved into her, pressing her into the wall.

"Did anyone you know see Inferis?"

She realized the truth was blatantly clear on her face, so she nodded, not wanting to give away anything more by her words.

Whispering in her ear, he said: "The ritual we performed is very rare. After what I've read, the only known creators of the _ Culter Inferi _are Herpo the Foul, Morgana, Merwyn the Malicious, Godelot and Grindelwald. And, now there's me. I assume the one terrorizing the population, as you so eloquently put it, would be me, then. Grindelwald will be a decrepit, doddering old man by the time you are born, if he's still alive."

His breath felt searing hot on the shell of her ear, and she trembled, not quite sure about what she felt was desire or anger – or a potent mix of the two. As he let up, he growled into her ear: "You will follow my lead in this, Hermione. I won't tolerate any defiance. You'll be there tonight."

Xxxx

In the afternoon, she was walking down into the deep dungeons with Cygnus. The shadows danced in the corridor from the light of the flickering torches fastened in unevenly spaced scones on the wall. Her mood was somber, and by the brief glances Cygnus shot at her, he had picked up on her mood. After a while, he cleared his throat.

"It's not the first time, you know, for him to … suddenly change … the way he acts towards a girl. I haven't seen him keep it up for such a long time before, though. This reminds me a bit of our fifth year."

"Alright," she said dully at first, but curiosity won out. "What happened in your fifth year?"

"Tom did this ritual, a quite horrid one as it were, on top of the Astronomy Tower. At the time, he was involved with Walburga because he needed virgin blood for the ritual." Cygnus blushed a little, not meeting her eyes.

"Virgin blood?" she couldn't help asking.

"Well, yes. You know, not from her arm or leg. He needed _ that _blood, specifically." Cygnus seemed very uncomfortable, but Hermione pressed on, not quite willing to believe what she thought he was saying.

"That blood? What do you mean by that?"

"Ummm, as in the blood from the actual … deflowering." Cygnus said.

Hermione was shocked, and her mouth blurted out her thoughts, all on its own: "He did **that** in a ritual..? When all of you were watching?"

"Yes."

"What kind of ritual was that?"

"He was aiming to pinpoint the location of _ something _ in Hogwarts, something he wanted to go looking for. Something very important, and heavily warded." Cygnus seemed unwilling to tell her what it was, glossing over it.

Hermione realized, it had to be the Chamber of Secrets. "Oh," she said in a small voice. 

She had never given any thoughts as to how he had found the Chamber in the first place, but obviously, having Slytherin's blood in his veins wasn't enough.

"But what I was trying to tell you, Hermione, was what happened with Walburga. And maybe that will explain why she seems so bitter and resentful towards you. Because he courted her, just like he has done with you, for more than a month in advance. She fell in love with him, hard, and would have done anything for him – and that's what he asked for, too. In this ritual, we captured and killed a Centaur on top of the tower. It was a grisly business, painting a Circle of Runes with its blood, the carcass laying in the middle. Then he activated the runes by taking her in front of all of us.” 

Cygnus swallowed, before he continued, eyes fixed on the stone floor as they walked: “And I can tell you, he wasn't all that gentle about it even though she was a willing participant, and _ that _ blood was what closed the shape of the runic circle. He got his pointer ritual alright, but he also turned cold to Walburga overnight. She was heartbroken for a long time, realizing it was all a decoy for getting her to participate in the ritual. So, I assume that the two of you have, well, you know, and that's why he's like this. It isn't about you, it's him. Trust me. He doesn't _ feel _ like other people, Hermione."

She was speechless, feeling a vague swell of compassion for Walburga. Then she shook her head, her eyes big and dark, before she whispered: "We haven't. I swear. And I won't let him either. Maybe he's given up."

Cygnus eyebrows rose to his hairline, and then he said softly: "Somehow, I believe you, though all evidence points otherwise. But I can tell you, he never gives up. The way he's acting must be a part of his plan. He _ always _ has a plan."

Xxxx

The room seemed crowded, and the mood was celebratory.

"All of you, have a Firewhisky!" Abraxas said, his face a little red and his eyes glazed. It looked like he had already had been tasting his smuggled-in whisky for quite a while. But then he nudged Tom with a sly look: "Though you have been celebrating already, haven't you, Tom? I admire how you could do that, I myself was dead tired after last night, and you must have been exhausted."

Tom smiled indulgently. "I had such exquisite company, celebrating seemed like the thing to do." 

_Again _the boys were laughing, and Hermione felt herself blush angrily. Glaring daggers at Tom, she just couldn't understand why he felt the need to brag about sex – and sex that hadn't happened at that. _Was he really that insecure and childish?_ _And his cruelty towards Walburga and all those other girls was just… what she should have expected from Lord Voldemort. _

Still, it had surprised her, and his behavior towards herself was confusing. But then she understood: _ He had shown her weakness. Now, he was asserting public dominance over her in the crudest way possible, just like any other stupid, teenage boy, to repair his own self-esteem. _

She almost snorted out loud, but her own anger didn't dissipate at all. _ Because, really, she was Hermione Granger. She had no patience with stupidity_, _ be it from Lord Voldemort or anyone else. _

"Friends!" Tom called out. "I thank you for your support and magical daring last night. Our ritual was successful, and we mastered the first steps of Necromancy together. The _ Culter Inferi _ will enable me to raise the dead!"

He showed them the knife, holding it up in his hand, and the blade seemed to siphon the light from the room, glittering darkly in the shadows. The boys jeered and applauded, while Druella and Walburga whooped.

"But, raising Inferis here at Hogwarts will be very risky. As you know, the teachers know something happened in the forest. Therefore, it's imperative that all of you maintain the image of all of us being in bed as usual last night. If any of you are questioned by your dorm mates or friends, let me know. I'll handle that."

His eyes locked on Hermione as he continued: "I've already … corrected … the memories of some of your dorm mates. It's too dangerous to let anyone know we were out of bed yesterday."

Hermione gasped, realizing that Joanna and Mariette had been Obliviated. Blinking, she felt like she should be sad and angry on their behalf, but strangely the feeling was lacking. Or rather, this feeling had turned into anger too.

"I do promise you that we'll raise Inferis together. If not while at Hogwarts, then immediately after. Maybe I should invite you to the house I inherited in Little Hangleton." His mouth twisted into an ugly sneer, but the group cheered again.

"Gentlemen, I think we deserve a little reward, and I'm sure our lovely ladies will help us." His gestured at Hermione, Walburga and Druella. Hermione could see the two other girls look a little shocked, and then she noted that some of the boys sported a hard, glazed expression as they turned to the girls.

Antonin Dolohov’s hand inched toward his thigh, and she was shocked to see a bulge forming in his trousers. He licked his lips, glancing briefly at her, before he rasped at Tom: "Does this mean you'll be _ sharing _?"

Hermione gasped, body going into instant fight mode. _ No, they couldn't seriously mean THAT? Would she even be able to fight her way out of the room when there were so many of them? Possibly, if Tom didn't step in himself. Then, she’d be helpless. _

She froze at the thought, but shook it off quickly. Using her anger and fear, she started to gather her magic.

"No, no, calm down, boys," Tom said laughingly. "Entertainment such as that, you should be able to acquire on your own. No, I merely meant that the ladies might duel to keep us entertained. It should be interesting."

His eyes moved to Walburga, and back to Hermione. She felt a flush of odd relief rushing through her. Relief because she wouldn't have to fight her way out to escape multiple rapes, and odd because Lord Voldemort had lived up to her expectations to a _ minimum _ of decency – and it was even stranger that she _ had _any expectations where he was concerned at all, after the way he had behaved.

Walburga smiled mischievously, and curtsied: "Of course, my lord. I won't go easy on her." 

Without any proper warning, she fired off a Blasting curse in Hermione's direction. It backfired spectacularly, and Walburga careened backwards, slamming into the wall. The boys and Druella all gasped, and Tom's eyes glittered with amusement as he watched. 

Walburga blinked groggily, before standing up, trying to fire a Jelly-legs at Hermione. As it backfired too, Walburga's knees wobbled, and she fell down on shaking legs, her expression a mix of fear and fury. Tom laughed, delightedly, turning to Hermione.

"What did you _ do _ to her? This is so amusing. Is it a spell?"

Hermione showed her teeth to him in a pretend smile. "Why would you think I had anything to do with it?" she said blandly, having no intention at all to tell him anything about her invention – at least not when her anger was at this level.

"Because you told me you were inventing something," Tom said, his amusement fading fast, his eyes narrowing.

"I wouldn't want to presume to making magical inventions," she said, showing him a blank face.

At that he snarled, coming straight at her, gripping her head in his hands. "_Legilimens!" _ his words felt like a rushing through her ears. She tried to fight him off, pulling at her Occlumency shields, shoving at his presence in her mind, but he rifled through her memories of Walburga, latching on to the potion and the spell. After a short while, his mind retreated, and Hermione slumped to the floor, feeling exhausted, her head hurting and her anger flaring in sharp spikes.

"Brilliant," he whispered, giving her an appraising look. Clearing his voice, he said loudly: "A combined potion and a spell. It's clear that Hermione's quite the creative witch. This will be very useful. It is a very clever use of defensive magic." 

He extended his hand to her, dragging her up from the floor. As she stood, his hand lingered for a short while, but then he withdrew it and removed himself from her. But the only thing she felt, was an insistent thrumming, a pulse of anger through her veins.

Xxxx

As she walked to her Defense Against the Dark Arts class the next day, Muriel came up to her. 

She squeezed her shoulder briefly, and said: "I do hope you are alright. I just wanted to tell you that Abraxas reckons he'll come around. Tom is a piece of shit and has always been, if you ask me, but Abraxas maintains that he must really like you, because he has always treated you different from all other girls. Anyway, the boys are fervently hoping that you'll forgive him, because I'm told his temper is awful. Abraxas won't say anything more, but I think he might be hexing them left and right in the dorm." Giving her a brief smile, Muriel strode forward into the classroom.

In the classroom, she sat down as far from Tom as possible. She was still angry by his power show of Legilimency, his stupid bragging and his coldness towards her, not to mention the way he had treated Walburga and girls in general. Hermione felt shivers travel down her spine, the light, curling tendrils of a tightly suppressed rage.

Professor Merrythought told the class to read a chapter on the classification of Shield Charms. Having read the chapter multiple times already, Hermione's thoughts went to how she had cooperated with Dolohov during the ritual, and the way she had directed his magic. Her hand shot up, calling for her Professor's attention.

"Yes, Hermione?" Merrythought said as she strode up to her.

"I would like to ask you a question on magical cooperation," Hermione said. "Which factors decides who directs the magic when two people cooperate magically?"

"Oh, Hermione, that's easy," Merrythought scolded gently. "I'm sure you know this. It's always the strongest wizard or witch."

Her facial muscles morphed into a gloating grin, and she almost – _ almost _ – felt sorry for Dolohov not being in her year. She would have loved to prove the point of him deferring to her magically, despicable little shit of a sixth year that _ he _ was. Still, it felt like she had won, like it was a decisive victory over the creep that had tried to molest her in the future. 

But then Merrythought continued, obviously not being pleased by Hermione's less-than-humble grin: "I'd say, you'd be most likely to take the lead, but remember, Hermione, there lies a great responsibility in that. You are becoming a very powerful witch in your own right. With magical cooperation, you'll have more power at your disposal than usual, and therefore the spells you cast will have a greater effect. Though, of course, even you will lose your lead if you cooperate with someone like Tom."

At that her glee dissipated, as Tom arched his eyebrows arrogantly at her. _ Blasted boy, enjoying his power-fueled dominance again_, she thought furiously.

Xxxx

A whole week had passed, and she had almost gotten used to the whispers, looks of pity or schadenfreude from the other students. Tom was distant and aloof, and she found that it suited her just fine, though she realized that it wasn't good for her mission. It was definitely _ not _like she missed him, because she kept good company with her friends. 

Even Walburga seemed more friendly to her. _ Or _ , Hermione admitted to herself, _ maybe she was scared because her magic wouldn't work on Hermione. _As Mariette also wanted to keep away from Sebastian, it was easy enough to avoid Tom and his gang. Mariette was clearly hurt, but refused to discuss it, and neither Joanna nor Hermione was quite sure about what had happened between the two. Obviously it was something, but they were reasonably sure there hadn't been any snogging.

Before an outdoor lesson in Care of Magical Creatures, on a blustery, cold day with slushy snow covering the grounds, the grizzled and scarred professor Kettleburn stood close to Professor Dumbledore. Hermione waited patiently for the lesson to start, standing by herself, as far from Tom as possible, huddling inside her Warming Charm. With displeasure, she saw Tom wore the scarf she had given him for his birthday, his chin nuzzling the soft wool. 

The teachers were whispering to each other, and Hermione caught on to their conversation after hearing "_Thestrals _ " and _Forbidden Forest_."

"It's true," Kettleburn whispered. "There's unrest in the forest, and both the Thestral herds and the Acromantulas seems to be disturbed by something. I'm not quite sure, but there might be a young Thestral stallion missing. And there are reports of the merpeople missing a merman too. They are seen along the shores of the lake, searching."

"I have the feeling that something really bad happened," Dumbledore muttered, looking worried, before snapping his head up. "Oh, look, Silvanus, your class is here already. I better be going. Do tell me if you find out anything else."

"Sure, Albus." Kettleburn frowned a little for himself, stroking scar tissue where his missing fingers should have been. "Ok, everyone. Today we are going to revisit Mokes. Do any of you know how to catch one?"

But Hermione's eyes followed Dumbledore as he left. Maybe she could ask him about her worries? If anyone would be able to explain why her emotions were lacking and her future life seemed so distant, it would be him.

Xxxx

In the afternoon, she walked by Tom in the dungeon, ignoring him like she had done for the last week. He was sitting in the green sofa at the center of the room, lounging with his friends.

"Hermione." His voice was a cold command, and she felt instantly furious. Stopping for a second, she straightened her spine before resuming to walk.

"Hermione." His voice was louder now, and laced with anger. Feeling his eyes in her back, she continued to the door. In a flash he was beside her, grabbing hold of her, and pushing her into the wall. She gave him a hard stare, before trying to wrench his arms off her.

"I was talking to you. I expect you to listen." His eyes were dark, bottomless pools, but she could discern faint, red sparks swirling.

"I'm busy. I had important things on my mind," she flipped arrogantly, trying to push him away. 

The room had become deathly silent, and she could feel the eyes of the Slytherins on them, watching with a mix of curiosity, fear and nervous amusement.

He loomed over her with a threatening glare, and she felt into the marrow of her bones just how much power and authority Tom Riddle could muster at the age of eighteen. Pretending to be unaffected, she channeled her inner Gryffindor, and glared right back.

She felt his magical power almost as a buzz in her ears, throbbing at her with every beat of his heart, before it grew into a rushing crescendo, finally breaking as he surged down to kiss her. It was hot, wet and forcibly, publicly dominant, and she felt herself explode into rage. _ He did this just to show everyone that he could do as he pleased with her, that he was in control, but he was wrong! _

She pushed back at him with all of her magic, making him stumble a step backwards, and then she was out of the door and on her way to the library before he had gathered himself.

Xxxx

After finishing her homework – she was after all, she told herself, Hermione Granger, and homework was always a priority – she went to see the only one she thought might be of help.

"Do come in," Dumbledore's friendly voice came through the door as she knocked.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir," she said nervously.

"Never mind, it's always welcome taking a break when one's in the middle of first years Transfiguration essays," he smiled merrily at her, putting away his red marking pen. "Would you believe it, one of these little rascals actually proposes that by Transfiguring himself into Professor Slughorn, he'd have access to all his knowledge, and by that gaining an Outstanding in Potions?"

Hermione had to smile back at him, and said: "If only if it was that easy, sir."

"Oh, I don't know about easy, Transfiguring into Slughorn might be a little tricky. Maybe that's a task for you seventh years? But do tell me if you gain an insight into his mind as well," Dumbledore beamed at her. 

"Lemon drop?" he offered, handing over a large porcelain bowl adorned with garish butterflies, filled with wrapped sweets.

She smiled at him, popping the sickly sour-sweet candy into her mouth. Then she took a deep breath.

"Professor," she said, "I'm a little worried about my reactions. It's like I've lost my emotions and my attachment to my future. I can't feel anything, or else it's very weak."

He looked searchingly at her, and asked: "When did you notice this?"

"When I think about it, the first time was most likely right after I landed in this age."

The silence stretched, and the only sound she could hear was Dumbledore slowly crumpling a candy wrapper in his hand. Then he said abruptly: "You showed me memories of a war, Hermione. Did you ever kill someone yourself?"

She blanched. Stuttering worriedly, she said: "Could this be because I maimed my soul by killing?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said gravely. "But if you noticed it right after coming to this age, I'd like for you to tell me just how you managed to get here."

Her eyes flicked over the room, her breath caught in her throat, not wanting to answer just that. 

She noted, _ he had a cozy fire in the fireplace, books and parchments of all kinds spread haphazardly around, the desk was a deep mahogany… _ Forcing herself out of her distraction, she said: "I bespelled my Time-Turner. It's a horrible spell, the ‘_Tempus Sacrificio’. _"

Dumbledore frowned, but said: "I'm afraid I don't know that spell, Hermione. Tell me, does it require a sacrifice?"

She glanced away, squaring her shoulders before breathing out "Yes."

"And?" Dumbledore said sternly.

It rushed out of her: "We were attacked, my friend was mortally wounded, and I had to get away. She begged me to use the spell to save myself, and I killed her with the Killing Curse, feeding her death into the Time-Turner as I cast the spell."

Dumbledore looked stunned. "Where did you learn such a spell? This is very Dark magic indeed."

"Oh, it was from the Black family library," she began, but he interrupted her quickly.

"The Blacks? Whenever would they be on the same side as I?" He looked angry and flustered.

"They weren't," she assured him. "My friend, our hero, sort of, he inherited the Black family home from his godfather, his godfather being something of an outcast in his family. We found the spell in an ancient scroll from their library."

"Do you, by any chance, have that Time-Turner on your person?"

"Yes. I don't like to part with it. Maybe that's because it's my link back to the future, but…" Her voice died, as she realized it wasn't true. _ She couldn't bear to part with it because it felt like a part of her. _

"May I see it?" Dumbledore reached out a hand to her.

Slowly, she unfastened the clasp of the chain around her neck, reluctantly dropping the Time-Turner in his palm. She looked at the small, golden object with a keen longing. _ No one should touch it, it was hers, it was HER… _

Dumbledore sighed, handing it back to her. Quickly, she snatched it back, fastening it around her neck again. Instantly, the cold metal soothed her and calmed her as it touched her skin, and her breathing slowed.

Looking up, she noticed Dumbledore looked every inch of his sixty-four years. Sighing heavily, he said: "I am speculating, as I do not know the effects of this spell. But it is horrifyingly close to another Dark spell, one that you may not know all that much about, namely Horcruxes."

Her gasp was audibly, and her eyes widened. Clutching the armrests of her chair, she muttered "No, no, it can't be."

"So you _ do _know about Horcruxes. Not many people do, Hermione. You seem to know quite a lot about the darker aspects of magic." Dumbledore's look was severe.

"I _ hunt _Horcruxes, professor. That's what I was supposed to do in the future. You sent me and my friends on this hunt yourself." Her voice was a little hurt and disbelieving from his obvious distrust.

"And yet you've as good as made one yourself. Not quite, but almost. Hermione, as I said, I can only theorize. The act of traveling time in such a manner ripped your soul, split it, and a part of it is currently residing in your Time-Turner. That's why you weren't affected by traveling such a large gap of time. But it did take something out of you, a piece of yourself, effectively smothering your emotions and your link to your former timeline. My best guess would be that by returning in the same manner, you'd rip and split even more of your soul."

She sat completely still, her mind numb. _ I'm no better than Tom Riddle. He has two Horcruxes, and I have something very similar. _

"I would advise strongly against splitting up your soul again. If you don't want to lose more of yourself, you must remain in this time, Hermione. And… I wonder, it might also be possible that… Hermione, you may not be ageing before you reach your point of departure in time. It is quite possible that you'd stay eighteen until you reach 1997. But this is theory only."

As she didn't move, he rose from his chair, finding two tumblers and a bottle of Firewhisky. 

Pouring into the tumblers, he handed her one, saying: "Look, normally I don't offer offer my students liquor, but I think you need a drink. This is no everyday disclosure."

Downing the Firewhisky in one big gulp, she blinked at the burning feeling as the liquid passed down her throat. Coughing a little, she said: "No. Do you think there's anything I could do to get my emotions back?"

He shook his head sadly at her. "I'm sorry, but I cannot see that as possible. The best you can do is to avoid further splitting. I would say: Don't ever kill anyone again. Of course, you shouldn't because of so many reasons, but even if you're in mortal danger, you should do your best to avoid it."

She sat in the chair for a little while, trying to digest the information, her hand caressing the Time-Turner. Despair was rising up inside her, and she felt lost. _ She had to get away. She needed to be alone. _Rousing herself, she said: "Thank you for your time, Professor. I just feel a little odd."

"I can understand that, Hermione," he said gravely. "But rest assured, I won't report you for any crimes that you by definition haven't yet committed."

As she closed the door behind her, she realized it also was a warning to stay out of trouble.

Xxxx

She walked blindly around, dark thoughts of staying in this time competed with equally dark thoughts of returning. _ She couldn't risk splitting her soul twice. What if she ended up like a soulless monster herself? _

But staying here, in this time, slowly adhering to the norms and expectations of this time – _ she didn't really want that, either. And what about killing Tom? Would that make her more evil, simply just as evil as him? Would she kill the Dark Lord, only to grant the world the rise of a Dark Lady? To be an ageless monster, lost in the past, no, that couldn't be. _

She could find no rest, avoiding everyone, only returning to her dorm well after curfew. That night, she lay awake for hours, staring blankly into the ceiling.

Xxxx

The next day, she still felt bitter and distraught, and then she stumbled on Tom whispering something to a girl. _ That girl – that Ravenclaw girl from the Astronomy Tower. _ With a jolt, Hermione realized she hadn't thought about the girl in a long time, being so caught up in her own web of troubles. _ And Tom himself _, a small voice whispered to herself. 

She felt a miniscule stint of remorse, and she scolded herself angrily that this, this was just about the extent of her capacity for feelings towards other people, despicable, emotionless monster that she had become.

But there was no way she'd continue let him do _ that _ to the poor girl. She may not have more emotional range than a teaspoon anymore, but there was still right and wrong in this world. He couldn't just go about using lovesick girls as he liked. Besides, she had her rage and anger. _ Actually, quite a lot of it. _

She tried to tell herself that it had all to do with right and wrong, and absolutely nothing to do with how her physical relationship with him had developed. But really, there wasn't any point in trying to fool herself. She didn't like the thought of him with another girl. Gritting her teeth, she thought: _ Dear Merlin. Am I jealous? That's just another reason to be angry with him. _

She waited until the two of them had parted, and then she stealthily followed Tom into the courtyard. Pulling him aside into a nook close to the walled enclosure, she said: "I know about you and that Ravenclaw girl. Put an end to it." She drilled her eyes firmly into him, and to her surprise, he seemed a little uncomfortable. But his façade came back up quickly.

"Know what?" he said, the very picture of innocence, with a faint, amused smile, dark eyes sparkling with a frosty light.

"I overheard you one time in the Astronomy Tower. Later, I heard her complaining to her friend that she frequently found herself there without knowing why."

"And exactly what did you hear, Hermione?" He leaned into her, looking down at her.

She blushed, and looked away. "You forced yourself on her, making her give you a… a… a.. blowjob," the last word only a whisper. "And then," her voice and her glare returning to strength, "then you Obliviated her."

"I did no such thing," he said indignantly.

"Yes, I heard you!"

"I don't _ force _myself on girls," he snarled, gripping her arms hard.

"You might call it something else, but what I heard wasn't consent, Tom. And, it stands to reason that you would do something like that. After all you've pushed me quite far at times, demanding my… cooperation."

"I didn't force you, you went along with it as you very well know! And that girl was willing, I can tell you that."

"Well, whatever you call it, just stop it!"

He glared at her. Composing himself, he swallowed. Giving her an intent look, he leaned down and breathed silkily into her ear: "I'll stop. But then I'll expect you to step up. More so than you already have."

Her breath caught, and her fury swelled into a red, haze in front of her eyes. _ She wasn't willing to do this. _ She had sworn to herself not to end up in his bed. _ At least, not more than she already had_, she amended to herself.

"Not an option. I'm saving myself for marriage, didn't I tell you?" she lied again, eyes glaring furiously at him.

"You can't be serious, _ why _would you do that? We do have Contraceptive spells and potions, it's not like there's any risk. Is this really normal in the future?" he scoffed, incredulous, drawing himself up.

"I am serious. You'll stop doing whatever you do to that girl, no matter what I do or not. Besides, I wouldn't touch you anyway, since you think you can treat me and talk about me the way you have lately. I won't be acting like your girlfriend or your whore, Tom Riddle. You can forget about me in that respect, Tom, because I don't like humiliation and I don't like being forced, and just so you know it: I don't _ share." _

She pushed him off, and whirled away before he could open his mouth again.

Xxxx

He stared at her all the time through their classes, and she had to wonder if he ever blinked. He stared at her at lunch and at midday, and in the library. It was the same the next day, and Joanna commented at breakfast: "He hasn't taken his eyes off you since yesterday. What happened?"

She huffed: "I don't know." Spearing a piece of cheese on her fork, she made sure to avert her eyes from him.

"Maybe he does want to get back with you," Mariette said in a small voice, filling up her goblet with milk.

"If so, he shouldn't have accosted me like he did in the dungeon." 

Slicing up her grapefruit with too much force, the juice splattered her shirt. "Merlin," she mumbled to herself, swishing a quick Tergeo to clean her clothes.

"True," Joanna nodded. "That wasn't a smart move, though I've heard people say it was because he loves you so much."

Hermione snorted into her tea. "Hah! As if he ever loved anyone but himself." Raising her head, she met his eyes square on. Noticing her looking, his eyes glittered, and he nodded to her.

Xxxx

In the afternoon, he ambushed her in a corridor, dragging her into an empty classroom. He locked and warded the door, and put a quick Silencing spell on the room. The sun sat low in the skies, and glittering beams of afternoon sunlight glittered and sparkled in the dusty room.

Feeling her anger and resentment spike, she said furiously: "What are you doing? Let me out! I don't want to be locked up with you."

He swallowed, before saying: "I want to be locked up with you."

"Obviously," she replied in a caustic tone, rolling her eyes at him.

"No, I mean it both literally and figuratively," he said, seeming both nervous and determined.

"Figuratively…," she said with skepticism dripping from her voice.

He took a deep breath, and said: "Would you marry me?"

Her jaw hanging open, she blinked at him for about two seconds, before she yelled: "No! How could you think I would EVER do something as stupid as that!"

Anger was simmering in his eyes at the rejection, and he said, his voice a forced calm: "We'll get into Sorbonne, both of us. There will be a scholarship for one person only, but there's actually an opening for married couples."

Squinting at him, she said, fury throbbing in her head: "I suppose you would get in anyway. Why would you want to bring me along? What's in it for you?"

"I know you want too. Your magic deserves a chance like that. But for me… Well, I want your company. I want you. You are a powerful witch, and you know the future. You'll be an asset to me."

"Thanks for the incredibly romantic proposal," she said acerbically, the volume of her voice increasing as she continued: "Did you ever stop to think that I might want a husband who would care for _ me _ , not one who has calculated my _ usefulness?! _" 

The sentence ended in a shout, and she felt her magic crackle around her, making her hair stand out as if electrically charged.

"Romance," he scoffed. "Grow up, there's no such thing. You quoted me by saying there's only power, and those too weak to seek it. That's all there is. You're after something in this era, and Sorbonne will help you to get it by making you more powerful. We can do great things together, Hermione, you know that."

Shaking her head, she clenched her fist, almost wanting to hit his beautiful face. Instead, her magic flared out wildly, splintering a small table by the door into pieces.

"You must be insane already," she spat at him, not caring that she told him her opinion of the future him. "You made us all participate in killing innocent creatures, you TRICKED us into it, you use and abuse people for your own amusement, and then I haven't even started on the way you'll behave in the future. You only love power and yourself. There's absolutely no way I'll marry you!"

The words were ringing in her ear, and he hissed angrily at her: "_Imperio!" _

Suddenly, marrying him felt as the right thing to do, but a voice in the back of her head kept yelling "NO". He gave her a tight smile, and all she could think about was how handsome he looked. _ Of course she wanted to marry him…" _ ** _NO!_ **", the voice shouted inside her head, and gasping, she fought the compulsion, resisting and denying him the power to rule her mind, and then she shook it off.

"Only a vile, despicable sociopath like you would try to Imperius someone into marrying them!" 

She screamed at the top of her lungs, anger thrumming in her heartstrings. Flinging a Reducto at him with all her might, she managed to blast him off his feet, but laying on his back, his wand at the ready, he countered quickly with a Stunner that she barely managed to shield, before he had crawled back up on his feet.

"You little minx," he hissed, "you can't win a duel against me, and I know that you know it!"

Baring her teeth at him, not caring if dueling him was a smart or an extremely stupid choice, she threw a Stinging Hex at him, red sparks showering the classroom, following up with a quick "_Expulso!" _He swayed on his feet as the curse hit his shield, but aimed to hit her with a Body-Bind Curse.

Barely deflecting it, she had to give up her shield, jumping to the side. Casting "_Locomotor Mortis _" at him with a furious whisper, he elegantly switched the Leg-Locker aside with a twitch of his wand.

With a fluent grace, his wand movement morphed into the sideways arch of the Stickfast Hex, and as he muttered "_ Colloshoo!” _ the hex hit her with full force, glueing her feet to the dusty floor. 

Yelling frantically "_Finite Incantatem!" _ she stumbled away, just in time to avoid being hit with a silent thrust from a powerful, blue beam. She had no idea what the spell did, and then she jumped away as an equally strong orange lightening fizzed at her.

Throwing up her hands, letting her vine wand go, clattering as it hit the floor, she yelled: "Stop!" Her breath was heaving, and she felt like she had run a mile.

He lowered the pale wand in his hands, glaring at her and breathing hard too.

"I'll… I'll never win a duel with you," she admitted, feeling a bitter defeat. "And to my knowledge, no one ever will. There's no point in dueling you, I'll just end up losing. I won't fight you. Can we just agree to go out there and go back to not talking to each other again?"

He snorted, eyes narrowing. "No, we can't agree on that. You might stop fighting, but I'll hex you anyway I like, whenever I want. You'd do well to remember that I'm far more powerful than you, and I don't take rejection lightly. I always get what I want. That includes you, too." 

Giving her a last glare, he loosened the wards on the door and went outside, leaving her alone, angry and incredulous in the empty classroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooops. I'd say they're both in trouble. Tom is a hypocritical bastard, isn't he? He IS Voldemort, but Hermione is no fragile flower either. And they're both quite stubborn...


	16. Silence Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why did you think this was a good idea? Things like this are precisely why I turned you down in the first place. This is why I don't want you." She could see herself in a large mirror on the wall, and it was clear that she looked as bad as she felt. Her eyes looked positively haunted.

They glared at each other over breakfast, classes, breaks, lunch and dinner. Sitting as far away as possible from him in the library, Hermione felt as if his very breathing polluted the air when he was in the same room. Mariette and Joanna were nagging her to tell what had happened, but she'd never, ever tell them that he had proposed. 

She could scarcely believe it herself, Lord Voldemort – of all people – had proposed to her._ It was unreal. Better marry the devil himself, _she thought to herself. 

Her mind churned around that memory, and she just couldn't bring her head about to understand why he had done that. The reasons he had given her wasn't _ enough_. What did he think he'd gain from marrying her? He already thought that she was one of his followers, albeit a rather rebellious one, but getting the additional benefit of sex just couldn't explain why he'd go to such a drastic measure. _ And to curse her with the Imperius as well… No, it was unbelievable. _

"No, I won't tell you anything about the quarrel," she said firmly for the umpteenth time. Turning on Mariette, she challenged her: "Why don't you tell us about you and Sebastian instead?"

Mariette drew herself up, saying darkly: "There's nothing, and there has never been."

"Come on," Hermione scoffed, pleased to have steered the conversation away from herself. "You've been in a bad mood since you discovered his dalliance with Mrs. Malfoy, and we do know that the two of you were quite friendly before that."

Mariette thinned her lips, before sighing. Looking away, she said softly: "We've never even kissed. But he told me if he hadn’t been engaged, he'd propose to me on the spot. He told me he loved me, and he was such a gentleman about it. That's why it was such a shock discovering that he'd bedded Abraxas mother." Her lip quivered a little, before she set her face in a firm expression. "But that's all there is, and it was never meant to be anything else."

"Oh," Joanna said, stroking Mariette's hand. "I'm so sorry. He doesn't even like that fiancé of his, you know. But you'll find another. There's plenty of fish in the sea."

Hermione remembered Sebastian's young fiancé as distinctly unpleasant, but she also remembered Cygnus' very real fascination with the girl at the Malfoy ball. _ Someone should change that awful, Pure-blood tradition of arranged marriages, _she thought.

"On the other hand," Joanna said brightly, "my mother and Mortucan are soon going to set the date for my wedding. I'll make sure we invite lots and lots of eligible bachelors, Mariette – and for you too, Hermione. You'll drown in suitors, both of you!" But even Joanna's mood darkened as the two other girls only looked stormily at her.

Xxxx

At dinner, Dolohov pressed himself down on the bench beside her, shutting her off from Mariette and Joanna with his large frame. Involuntarily, she shuddered in disgust. _ But then she remembered: She was stronger than him. He couldn’t hurt her now. _

"Greetings, beautiful," he leered at her.

Grunting by way of response, she looked him up and down, and the haughty sneer on her face formed quite naturally. "Can't say the same about you, unfortunately. Would you mind go pestering someone else – maybe someone your own age?"

"Feisty one, aren't you," he said. "I like older women. I like powerful witches that will put up a fight, and as size goes, I enjoy small girls just like you. Did you know, you're not even chest level to me?"

She glared at him. He was right, of course, but then he was the size of a small troll, big, strong and brutal. And her curse scar from the battle in the Ministry was a very real reminder of Dolohov's casual propensity for hurting people. Though he was fifty years younger in this time, she could still see that same brutality in the schoolboy as in the older Death Eater. _ Behind that youthful face, was still the man who had wanted to rape her in the future. And she was not going to cower in front of him. He wasn’t worth it. _

"Go away, you evil, little boy," she said arrogantly. "I don't have time for you."

"You do have a lot of time on your hands now, as our dear leader has lost interest. If you feel cold at night, I'll keep you hot and sweaty."

Gathering her fury, she turned to him, smiling sweetly. "Dear Antonin," she began. "You're one of the most vile people I've ever met. Actually, you're number two on my list. Number one was my erstwhile Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Would you like to know what I did to her?"

"I'd love too," he said, smiling indulgently at her, like he didn't believe that a nice girl like her could come up with something truly vicious. Hermione could see Tom listening in a few seats away, and her smile slipped, realizing that he should have made number one on her list.

Giving him a cold glare, she continued: "You see, Antonin, she tried to hurt some of my friends. So, I lured her out into the Forbidden Forest, and made her insult a herd of Centaurs. The result was, of course, disastrous. I'm told she was raped by the whole herd."

Antonin blinked, looking shocked, and Tom choked on his tea, spraying the table in front of him.

Her smile grew again, even sweeter, as she concluded: "Crossing me isn't advisable, Antonin. Bad things happen to those who do." Letting her smile fall, she barked at him with ice in her voice: "So get up, Antonin. Now!"

Antonin Dolohov took one look at her face, and then he reluctantly rose from the bench. Inside, she felt elated. _ She had scared him off! She had threatened him - she had scared _ ** _him_**_! _It felt like she somehow had gotten even with him. He had wanted to hurt her and frightened her badly in the future, and now, she had evened out the score in the past. 

Her feeling of victory soon became hollow as Joanna and Mariette stared in horror at her.

Xxxx

Walking briskly to Potions, Joanna and Mariette were struggling to keep up with her.

"You didn't!" Joanna whispered accusingly. "You did not cause another woman to be raped. Please, tell me you didn't!"

"It's unforgivable, no matter how horrid this woman was," Mariette admonished just as strongly.

Hermione sighed, and to be frank, she rather agreed with them. In fact, she had no idea what the Centaurs actually did to Umbridge, but whatever it was, she was sure it was well deserved. The spin she had put on the story to scare off Dolohov was backfiring spectacularly at her, estranging her friends. Sighing a little, she realized there was no other choice.

"Please," she said, "I'll explain. We have about five minutes until class starts, let's go inside the neighboring room for a moment."

Her sweet, trusting friends followed her inside, and as soon she had closed the door, she turned around, wand in hand, whispering "_ Obliviate." _Their jaws became slack, and their eyes blank, and after a moment of silence, they were awake, blinking a little owlishly.

"We'd better go to Potions," she said, her voice a little gruff. Her friends followed her meekly into the classroom, sitting down at the front. She busied herself with getting her notes and quill out as Slughorn entered with a big smile on his face.

"Dear students! Spring is a lovely time for being in love, isn't it? That's why we'll brew a love potion to celebrate warmer weather, sunny skies and the fresh, green grass growing."

Hermione snorted a little, looking out the window to see a veritable blizzard howling around the castle walls. _ Spring indeed _, she thought, but the cheerfulness of Slughorn won her over. After all, it was the beginning of March, winter had to let up soon.

"Pair up, boys and girls, for Amortentia," Slughorn beamed happily. "You'll work together, analyzing if the Amortentia has different effects on the sexes. You'll also brew a Hate Potion to neutralize the effects of your Amortentia."

Hermione sighed, turning around to see if she could find a boy to cooperate with.

"We'll work together." She sighed at the sound of the deep voice behind her, but realized that it had to be so. None of the other boys would interfere when he had staked a claim – as usual. 

Why he would want to work with her on this was disturbing. As things were these days, they just _ didn't _ cooperate, not on anything.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw that his jaw was set, and he avoided looking at her. Instead, he glared at the other students in the room, as if anyone would contest his choice of lab partner. 

"Very well," she said curtly. "I'll go and get the ingredients, if you'll light the fires for the cauldrons."

As she scrambled back with an armload of ingredients, he had prepared their workstation immaculately.

"I'll prepare the Ashwinder eggs," he said.

"Naturally," she said, a faint sneer in her voice. "You do have a considerable affinity for snakes, don't you?" Her eyebrow cocked up, she didn't meet his eyes, but was immensely pleased as she saw him stiffen for a moment. "I'll grind the moonstones before starting on the Hate Potion. It seems that brewing Hate takes a shorter amount of time than brewing Love."

He gave her a glance at that, but wisely kept his mouth shut. They worked in silence, neatly cutting, slicing and grinding the ingredients, just like two utter professionals. He did the stirrings on the Amortentia, and she stirred the Hate.

After an hour of brewing, the Amortentia had gotten its beautiful mother-of-pearl shine, and the Hate Potion was a sluggish, dull black, a filmy grey oil floating on top of the surface. They bottled the potions, waiting for Slughorn to grade their brewing.

"Go on, smell it," he said, holding out the vial of Amortentia to her. Hermione stepped closer, inhaled, but couldn't really smell any difference.

"You have made a mistake," she said. "it doesn't smell anything."

At that he scrunched up his eyebrows, dipping his nose into the vial. "You're right, I can't smell any difference either," he said, a little worried. Hermione didn’t bother to hide her smile, she supposed he never had done a mistake while brewing in class before.

"Sad," she said gleefully, "such a waste of time. At least we don't have to taste it, since it doesn't work."

"What?" Slughorn said, coming up behind them. "Is your brewing faulty? I'd never thought that would happen." Then he laughed, boxing Tom lightly on his arm: "Maybe you were distracted. It isn't the first time a Potioneer have been distracted by a woman." He laughed heartily, not noticing the forced smiles of his two top students.

"Let me smell it," he said, grabbing the vial. "Mmmm," Slughorn said, his eyes closed. His eyes shot up, and he said: "I can't for the life of me understand why you thought this was a faulty brew. This is quite an excellent Amortentia. I can smell … Nevermind. And your Hate potion looks just right. Now, if you will, please taste it."

They both stared at each other, unwilling to drink. Slughorn looked at them, and said gently: "I'll leave you to it. Make sure that one of you taste it, and the other one must stand ready with the Hate potion to nullify the effect."

Hermione took a quick glance around in the classroom, noting that most of the class were still occupied by brewing, and a few had reached the bottling stage.

Tom sighed, and said: "I'll go first. Tip the Hate potion into my mouth as soon as you can, will you?"

Hermione nodded, but felt a bit worried. After all, he was much taller and stronger than her, so if he were to resist drinking the Hate potion, she would have difficulties in administering it. She realized, that force would get her nowhere in this matter.

Taking a brief look at her, he downed the Amortentia quickly. Closing his eyes, he suddenly seemed very pleased. She watched as he opened his eyes slowly, giving her a languid once-over.

"There you are," he purred, and took a step closer to her. She swallowed, and gave him a bright smile in return.

"I've got something for you," she said, invitingly, dangling the vial of Hate Potion from her fingers. "I brewed it especially for you."

Giving her a sultry smile, he nestled his arms around her, crooning: "I don't care. You are enough for me, I don't need anything else."

She said seductively at him, pouting a little as she leaned back into his arms: "You disappoint me. I went through all this effort, just for you. Please?"

He shook his head, lowering it in the direction of her mouth. "Later, darling. Now, I need to…"

She stopped him short, holding a finger to his lips, which he promptly licked. Moving closer, she whispered: "If you drink it, I'll fulfill all your wishes. Will you please drink?"

His eyes smoldering at her, he grabbed the vial and downed the Hate potion. Hermione jumped back, as he twitched violently, before swearing: "Merlin's bloody balls!"

He looked wild-eyed at her, for once his hair was disheveled as he ran his hands through it, and she had to snicker. It took him a moment to compose himself, squeezing his eyes shut, visibly swallowing. Tiredly, he asked: "Why did you do it in such a manner?"

She arched her eyebrows, saying: "As you may have noticed, you're taller, stronger and more powerful than me. I had to make you drink it, and force wasn't an option."

"Right," he said, still adjusting himself, shaking his head as if the experience had been disturbing. "Your turn," he said, turning to her with a nasty grin.

She pursed her lips at him, asking doubtfully: "And you will give me the Hate potion as soon as possible?" _ It would be just like him to make her run around being in love with him for twenty-four hours. And who knew what he’d make her do during those hours? _

"Yes," he said, eyes glittering at her.

She didn't trust him, not for a second. "And you promise you won't try to take advantage of me in any way?"

"Yes." His smile was fully visible now, and her skepticism won out.

"I won't do it, unless Slughorn watches the exchange. I'll get him."

Fetching Slughorn, she marched back to their station with the Potions Professor in tow. Grabbing the vial from Tom, she downed it with determination. It tasted like a sunburst on her tongue, suffusing her whole being with a pleasant, tingling warmth spreading from the roots of her hair to the tip of her toes. 

_ And oh, how beautiful he was. _ She just wanted to sink into his arms, bury herself into his broad chest, letting him take care of her to the end of time. _ He should be naked_, she decided, stepping up to him to start unbuttoning his robe.

"What are you doing?" he said with some alarm, glancing at Slughorn. Their teacher was laughing silently, his jowls shaking.

"Undressing you," she said, standing on tiptoes to rub her nose into his neck, rasping her tongue along his throat.

"Drink this," he said hurriedly, tipping her head back. She did, licking her lips in the process, inviting him to kiss her with both her eyes and the way she pressed her body into his. His eyes darkened, and triumphantly she read his desire in them. Then the greyish, black liquid met her tongue, and her eyes flew wide open. 

Gasping, the fog of love lifted from her mind, images of hate, violence and death flowed through her in an instant, before she slowly felt like herself again.

Slughorn clapped his hands, saying: "Full marks to both of you, not that it was a surprising result!"

The two of them locked eyes for a brief moment, before starting to clean the station, once more in silence, none of them willing to discuss the possible different effects of the Amortentia on the sexes.

Xxxx

In the middle of March, she got a letter from the Ministry. Opening it with shaking hands, she whooped loudly at the breakfast table.

"I won, I won!" she crowed, letting her friends read the letter.

_ Ministry of Magic _

_ Educational Office London, 10 March 1945_

_ Dear Miss Granger. _

_ We would like to inform you of the result after the hearing on your proposal to make Householding Spells an elect course at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Educational Office at the Ministry of Magic have considered the matter. While the traditional approach to Householding Spell do have merits, seeing as most witches fulfill their duties as wives and mothers, you do present a strong case for Householding becoming an elect course. _

_ By making the course voluntarily, those witches that want to uphold the traditional obligations of their sex will not be affected, while those few who are otherwise inclined will have their freedom of choice. Therefore, the course will be made elect, starting with the term in the autumn 1945. _

_ The Ministry would like to thank you for your time and effort in this case. _

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Mervillion Nott _

_ Head of Office _

"Congratulations!" Mariette said to her, while Joanna threw her arms around her neck, squeezing her into a bear hug. Mutters and whispers spread through the Great Hall, and people were smiling and pointing at her. It felt good, for once, to be the center of attention for something that was not related to Tom Riddle, or for that matter, Harry Potter. Just something she had done all by herself. She rolled her shoulders, basking in the attention. Even at the Head table, the teachers were talking to themselves, smiling at her.

Headmaster Dippet rose from his chair, pointing his wand to his throat, mumbling "_Sonorous._" He cleared his voice, and the Hall fell silent.

"I believe congratulations is in order, Miss Granger. You have spent time and effort to change our curriculum, and this morning the Ministry and the Board of Governors informed me of the changes. From the next start of term Householding will be an elect course for our young witches, not an obligatory one. I suppose this is one the first breaths of the winds of change we also can see in the Muggle world, because an increasing number of women and witches want to expand their interests and life goals.” 

Dippet stopped, peering at the students, before continuing with an indulgent smile: “Not all of you young witches will want to embrace such a change, but those of you who does, will have more time to pursue other studies. Miss Granger has worked very hard to achieve this, and her determination is a model example for all of you, whatever your interests. I am quite sure that Miss Granger will go on to do great things, no matter if she chooses to pursue further studies, work in our government or run a household for her future husband. Let's hear it for Miss Granger!"

At that, Hermione almost rolled her eyes, but she had to smile as the Hall reverberated with a mighty "Hooray!" 

Though, she could see that some people chose to keep their mouths shut. _ Well, _ she thought, _ Rome wasn't built in a day. I have achieved one of the things I decided to do in this time, but reaching the all-important, other goal seems even farther away than before. _

Sighing to herself, she glanced at Tom, and saw that he was watching her with an unreadable expression in his dark eyes. Feeling uncomfortable, she looked quickly away. Muriel, on the other hand, came running, squealing, across the Hall from the Gryffindor table, hugging her tightly.

"You made it, you made it! Too bad we can't ditch the stupid subject too! Come on Abraxas, congratulate her properly!"

A reddening Abraxas Malfoy stood, holding out his hand across the table to Hermione, mumbling: "Congrats. I'm sorry for my rude behavior earlier and my tasteless comments about women." 

His eyes getting a playful look, he added with a laugh: "It will never happen again. Muriel won't let me." The whole of Slytherin burst into laughter, and Muriel brought out her wand, laughingly, and gave him a quick smack across his bottom with a lash of her magic, causing him to jump forward. 

The laughter rose another notch, and Muriel said lovingly to him: "You big dunderhead, you're not so stupid as you pretend to be, you know."

As she looked at them, Hermione wondered what would happen to Muriel and Abraxas. She was quite sure that Ron's great-aunt hadn't been married to a Malfoy, but then again, she'd never heard anything about Draco's grandmother either. Somehow, she hoped it would work out for them.

Xxxx

He was watching her again, letting his followers keep tabs on her when he was busy himself. 

The Slytherin boys were often oddly bruised, walking gingerly with drawn faces, so she supposed Muriel had been right in assuming he took out his temper on the boys.

Though he never spoke to her, he was so often at the perimeter of her vision, that she was almost used to him as a constant shadow in the distance.

The NEWT workload was immense, and she practically lived in the library. The stress of it all was getting to her, and she was worried about her exams, her future and the way her mission was collapsing under her feet. She could see absolutely no opportunities to use her trusted Polyjuice, carefully preserved under a stasis charm, without being sure about his absence from school. But he was never away, and her plan to get close to him had backfired spectacularly with his shocking proposal of marriage. She still didn't know what to think about that, except for her heartfelt "no." _ She had rejected him, and that made ingratiating herself to him, making him trust her well-nigh impossible. _

And now time was running out, there was only a few months left of schooling, and how on earth would she find his Horcruxes after finishing Hogwarts?

"Hey, how are you?" Muriel's soft voice was right behind her ear, and her shock of red curls were trailing along Hermione's shoulder. She lifted her tired face, and noted that Muriel was looking very serious.

"Fine, a bit stressed and tired like all of us, though," she sighed, rubbing her eyes. 

"I want to ask you something," Muriel said, casting a Silencing Charm around them. "You don't look fine," she continued bluntly.

"Well," Hermione said, not wanting to answer that.

"What more, _ he _ doesn't look fine either, and that's a first," Muriel said. "And poor Abraxas and the rest of the boys are literally _ tortured _ on a daily basis, though I can't for the life of me understand why they put up with it. Yesterday, Abraxas could barely walk to classes. For some reason, Abraxas has made me swear not to mention it to the teachers or anyone outside his Slytherin friends, really. But I think you're the only one who can do anything about this. Will you _ please _talk to Tom?"

Hermione gave her a bitter smile, saying: "It most certainly wouldn't do any difference. In fact, it might make it worse. He won't listen to me."

"Could you please try? To see Abraxas like this is dreadful. It breaks my heart, and knowing that I can't help is positively awful." Muriel's eyes were almost teary, and Hermione closed her eyes.

After a while, she let a big breath out. "Ok," she whispered. "I'll try, but please don't expect any results."

Xxxx

In the dorm that night, Walburga offered to brush her hair. Hermione's grip on her brush loosened, and it clattered to the floor. She stared dumbly at the girl, wondering if she had an ulterior motive of infesting her with lice or something like that.

Mariette and Joanna seemed just as surprised, as Walburga bent down to retrieve the brush, starting even strokes on Hermione's tangled curls.

"You know, you should let it grow longer," she said. "Then your hair would be too heavy for frizzing up like that. Would you like me to help?"

Hermione blinked. _ This coming from the girl who had cursed her bald by the Hair-Loss Curse? _

Nodding weakly at the offer, Walburga lifted her wand, casting a hair growth spell. And Hermione's hair obeyed, growing past her hip, settling into softer, bigger curls.

"Look at you, there's a difference," Walburga said with satisfaction, and Joanna and Mariette murmured their agreement. Walburga leaned in and whispered to Hermione: "I had to test if my magic works on you when my intent is friendly. As it seems so, I hope you could tell me why my hexes are blocked and thrown back at me."

Hermione looked intently at her, and then she smiled. "I might tell you by the end of the year, if you behave yourself." Walburga nodded at that, clearly not expecting anything else from a fellow Slytherin.

Xxxx

As Hermione came down for breakfast the next day, people were thronging in front of a board in the Entrance Hall, muttering and shaking their heads. "It's no use, though I would have loved to," she heard a seventh grade Ravenclaw boy say despondently. "If I were in another year, I might have a chance, but with _ him _, there's bound to be one winner. He's going to Sorbonne, no matter who enter the competition."

His friend snorted, saying: "You're right, unless one of the teachers would like to enter."

Barking a laugh, the first Ravenclaw muttered: "I'm not quite sure they would have won, though. Dumbledore, maybe, but the rest? He'd win, I'm sure."

Pushing forward through the throng, she read the note:

_ Students of Hogwarts! _

_ The faculty of Magical Sorbonne have come to an agreement with the Ministry of Magic, by offering one – 1 – scholarship to a British student. The student in question must have shown exceptional skill and prowess during his or her education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with Outstandings only in the subjects the student wishes to pursue in further education. The student must formally apply by 15 April. Application forms can be found at your Head of Houses' offices. All applicants must undergo a trial, written, orally and practical to judge the overall competency. The trial is set at 15 June, at Hogwarts, with the faculty of Sorbonne as examinators. _

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Magical Sorbonne, Headmaster Lucien Roulet _

_ Ministry of Magic, Minister for Magic Leonard-Spencer-Moon _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster Armando Dippet _

Hermione realized that the Ravenclaw boy was right, and bitterness coursed through her. If this was offered in her own time, she'd be the winner of such a competition, she was sure. But in the day of Head Boy Tom Riddle, there was only one possible winner. Steeling herself, she remembered her promise to Muriel. She would talk to him today.

Xxxx

She had a free period, originally reserved for the Householding class, but Headmaster Dippet hadn't found a replacement teacher yet. Hermione didn't mind, she was sure reading taught her more about the subject than Barness' teaching ever had. At the end of the period, she was loitering in the hallway outside the Arithmancy classroom.

The door opened, and the seventh year boys walked out of the room, some chattering and others brooding in silence. She stood still, until Tom came out at last, turning in the door to thank the teacher for something that she couldn't quite catch.

Scowling a little, she wondered why he was so set to maintain his façade as the nice, likeable, clever Head Boy. She wiped the scowl off her face quickly, sculpting her features into a neutral expression, before stepping up to him in the corridor.

"Hey," she said, barring his path. "I need to talk to you."

He looked down at her, arrogantly, and said: "Second thoughts after seeing the proclamation?"

"What? No," she said flustered. "That's not what I wanted to say…"

"Is it Slughorn's Easter party, then? I'll take you, don't worry. You did so well the last time, and it'll work even better after you scraped a claim to fame with your hearing. The condition is that you'll make me look good, though, supporting me."

"Slughorn's party? I haven't heard about any party, and I don't want to..." She felt like he was deliberately throwing her off the track to humiliate her, and knowing him, it was intentional.

He continued: "Oh, you still need that job after June, remember? Seeing as you're not planning on getting a husband to support yourself, and I'm sorry, that Sorbonne scholarship won't be yours. So Slughorn it is. Be ready at seven-thirty on Friday."

She gritted her teeth, knowing that he was absolutely right. If she wasn't willing to split her soul by returning to her future, she _ needed _a job badly, or else she'd be forced to beg lodgings with her friends.

"You're right," she grudgingly admitted, "I need to go to Slughorn's party. It's a deal."

"And you'll support all my claims in public while at the party?" He looked somewhat amused, and far too handsome in the sunlit corridor, the bright sunlight highlighting a faint stubble on his chin, and making his hair catch the light in a very appealing way… _ No, she wasn't supposed to notice his looks anymore_!

"As long as you don't propose to kill all Muggleborns, destroy the Ministry and proclaim yourself as the Dark Lord," she said with a sour twist to her mouth.

"Not at this party, at least. As you've been behaving less than reliable, I need you to swear on your wand." Suddenly, he was commanding, imperial even, and bringing all the force of his personality to bear on her. 

Somehow, she found herself with wand in hand, and before she knew it, she was saying: "I swear to support you and your claims in public at Slughorn's party, with the exception of a proclamation of lordship, killing of Muggleborns and destruction to the Ministry." 

Her wand lit up in blue flash, and she blinked. _ This was bad. This was really stupid. He had room to wriggle a mile within those limits, and she had to support whatever he said. But why had she sworn herself to support him? _

"You used the Imperius on me, didn't you?" Her eyes were squinting at him in anger, but he just laughed.

"No need for that, just a little nudging of your mind. You are very good with your Occlumency, but you always underestimate the power of eye contact." His eyes glittered at her, and she felt angry and embarrassed.

Lashing out without thinking, wanting to know his motives, she said with determination: "_ Legilimens!" _ She kept up the eye contact, just like he had taught her in the autumn, but didn't manage to break through his Occlumency shields. _ The shields seemed like a gigantic, far-reaching black wall spanning his mind, and it was freezing on the outskirts, but somehow also with a searing heat emanating from the walls. _

With a blank look, she retreated from her attempt, hearing him chuckle.

"Nice try," he said wickedly. "But you must know that I always Occlude. My walls are never down."

Swallowing her hurt pride at her failure, she decided to not let it anger her further. After all, she had sought him out for a reason. "Actually, I came by to ask you to stop hexing the boys."

His eyes darkened, and he said with a dangerous, silky quality to his voice: "Who told you?"

"No one. But any fool can see they are in pain. No amount of Quidditch practice or accidents would make them bruised, limping and wincing the way they have been these last weeks."

Narrowing his eyes at her, he asked: "And what makes you so sure I did this?"

She snorted. "Who else?"

At that he looked faintly amused. But as he continued, his face was cold and impassive: "What makes you think I would listen to you?"

When the sun suddenly disappeared behind a cloud, darkening the corridor, she shivered.

"Nothing at all," she whispered. "I'm just asking. I feel sorry for the boys."

"You are trying to restrain me from doing a lot of things that I like, Hermione, but you offer precious little in return."

Lifting her eyes to his face, she knew she had to steer the conversation away from herself. "Do you enjoy torturing them?"

He lifted his eyebrows at that, with a sardonic smile. "Yes. Just as much as you enjoyed torturing Walburga. Don't you remember how you felt when the power of the Cruciatus was running rampantly through your veins? By the way, are you sure you want me to refrain from making _ Antonin _scream?"

Suddenly her lips felt dry, and she wet them by the tip of her tongue. _ Did he know? Had he seen what Dolohov had tried to do to her in the future? _

He moved closer to her, his eyes locked on her mouth. _ It wasn't fair. He loomed over her like a big predator, and she knew he was just that dangerous. But still she felt that odd, delicious tingle down her spine. _

Taking a step back, she said: "No. You can torture Antonin Dolohov to an inch of his life for all I care. But don't ruin the NEWT preparations for the rest of them. It's their future that's at stake. I'm sure even you would like your followers to enter good positions after Hogwarts." 

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, the words dragged involuntarily out of her: "And, yes, the Cruciatus felt much too good."

Xxxx

Again, the girls were preparing for the Slug Club. It was the last weekend before Easter holidays, and most students were preparing to go home on Sunday. 

This time, Mariette had coldly denied Sebastian Lestrange, electing to go with Ravenclaw seventh year Marlion Wildsmith instead. Joanna was to go with her fiancée Mortucan Avery, who was Apparating in from London. As a Department Head, him coming to the party was a scoop for Slughorn. Walburga had once again chosen to go with Antonin Dolohov, to her younger fiancée's fury and to the amusement of the rest of Slytherin.

Hermione Transfigured one of her dresses into a long, rust-colored gown, golden swirls hidden into the fabric, creating the impression of autumn leaves. The dress was sleeveless, with a triangular neckline, and a split to just above the knee on her left. Piling her curls on top of her head, she finished her look off with a deep red lipstick.

"You look like you're going to a Samhain feast instead of an Easter party," Walburga told her, but oddly enough without her usual sneer. Hermione rather thought that her changed behavior was motivated by fear and force only. In a way, she had scared the girl into submission by her runic Potion. _To_ _rule school mates by fear and force – that was something Tom would do, not Hermione, and yet she had just done such a thing. What was she turning into?_

Pulling herself out of her musings, she gave Walburga a small smile. "Matches my mood better than spring, for the moment," she said. Tucking her Time-Turner into her cleavage, she joined her friends and Walburga to the common room.

Entering, she vaguely noted that several boys were waiting for their dates downstairs, but it all seemed hazy. What caught her eyes instead, was the burning, black stare of the young man waiting for herself. Swallowing, she walked up to him. He wordlessly, slowly lifted her right hand to his mouth, ghosting a kiss, his eyes never leaving hers. Firmly clasping her hand in his, they left the dungeon in silence, their friends trailing chattering behind.

His hand was surprisingly warm, and his ring, _ that _ ring, the Gaunt ring_, _ which he wore once again_, _ scraped her fingers. She tried to make any sense of it: _ Did it feel differently, could she discern the magic imbuing it? But to her, it seemed like just a ring_.

After greeting their Head of House, he pulled her into a slow waltz immediately. As they turned about the room, she could appreciate the effort Slughorn made into creating his parties. This time, there was a spring theme, with enchanted boughs sprouting new leaves making a bower encircling the room, flowers bloomed everywhere, and glittering little butterflies were sparkling among the golden-hued candles.

Then he broke the silence. "Will you reconsider?" he murmured by her ear. She instantly knew what he was asking. 

In a moment like this, pressed tight into his body as they slowly moved across the dance floor, it was easy to lose herself in the pleasurable feeling. _ The way he smelled just right, his tall, hard body holding her protectively, the intellectually challenging conversations they shared… Oh yes, it would indeed be easy to give herself to Tom Riddle, if he also wasn't Lord Voldemort in all his violence, coldness and hunger for power. But then again, at times his darkness spoke to her, calling her, and that scared her more than anything. _

Shaking her head, she murmured softly in reply: "I know too much about you. I cannot see how that would work."

Gripping her waist, pulling her even closer, he said: "To your knowledge, do I have a wife in the future?"

Smothering a laugh, she whispered: "Not to my knowledge, no. Actually, I never heard anything about you being involved with a woman at all."

"Marry me, then. You can change the timeline. Maybe you can prevent … things … from happening."

Looking up into his eyes, she felt as if she was drowning. A small voice at the back of her head whispered: _ He might be right. You can have your cake and eat it too, a handsome, powerful husband who will be a challenge to your intellect and magic, and you will be in a position to ensure peace. Do it. Do it, Hermione. _

But unbidden images rose in her mind: Harry's face as he returned clutching Cedric Diggory's body, Luna falling with staring, dead eyes in the forest, Dean crumpling like a rag doll, Dolohov's eyes as he cursed her in the Ministry, the sinister grin as he stood over her Petrified body, telling her how he’d rape her, the Dark Mark rising above the Quidditch World Cup camp, The Death Eaters running through Hogwarts as Dumbledore fell to the foot of the Astronomy Tower…

"No," she whispered, leaning her head into his chest. "You are going to engineer so much suffering and death. I can't trust you. All your dealings with me, from blackmail, forced kisses and humiliation shows that you'll be dangerous for me too."

He was silent for a long time, and then he said slowly: "Very well. So be it." Leading her off the dancefloor, he grabbed a glass of champagne, downing it swiftly before it refilled itself. For a while, they drifted around in the room, talking to the influential people Slughorn had invited. His façade as the intelligent Head Boy was instantly up, but she found it harder to don a pleasant mask. Hermione found that champagne and deliberately steering her mind into discussion mode helped, though.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joanna dancing with her fiancée, looking happy, while Mariette was deeply immersed in a conversation with a portly wizard in his late twenties, having unceremoniously dumped her date for the evening. The wizard was looking at her like he had found a prize, and she was smiling shyly at him. Across the dance floor, Joanna grinned at Hermione, nodding her head in the direction of Mariette.

"Who's that?" Hermione politely asked Slughorn. As her teacher followed her gaze, he smiled widely.

"That would be quite the catch for Miss Penilworth. That's the young master of Rookwood Hall, Hadrian Rookwood. He is quite the shooting star in the Ministry, currently in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Absolutely," Hermione said bemusedly, watching as her friend as her friend was literally _ glowing _ in her animated conversation with Rookwood. But then she shuddered. _ Rookwood – Augustus Rookwood was a Death Eater. Would Mariette become his mother? Was both of her friends fated to bear her enemies – an Avery and a Rookwood set to kill, maim and destroy Hermione's world? _

Slughorn patted her arm, and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, seeing Tom occupied in a conversation: "And the two of you, when are you going to get married?"

Hermione felt uncomfortable, but answered: "I'm not so sure about that, Professor. It may not be so."

"Nonsense!" Slughorn exclaimed. "My dear, there will always be rocks in the road in a relationship. Just because you are not in agreement all the time, does not mean that the two of you aren't compatible. I, for one, think that the two of you are made for each other. Tom is a good boy, I'm sure he'll do the right thing by you."

"Umm, well," she said, excusing herself to her Professor. She really didn't want relationship advice from Slughorn, and left as quickly as she could, face burning with embarrassment. 

Wandering off to a corner of the room, she noted that Slughorn hadn't been able to remove the scorch marks from the store room door, courtesy of a minor cauldron explosion earlier in the year, due to a faulty brew.

Tom came up to her, slinging his arm around her shoulders. He looked intently at her, before squeezing her into his side for a moment. As she looked up into his face, she saw the transition, clear as the day. At first, he was his usual, handsome self, the beautiful Head Boy and model student. Then, his eyes grew ice-cold, transforming his face, façade falling and revealing the darkness within. _ Lord Voldemort. _

Suddenly, before she could react, even before she could shudder, she was both Disarmed and Silenced, her arms were locked to her sides, as he steered her quickly into the store room. 

Mouth working soundlessly, she was both angry and scared. Just inside the door, he stopped, releasing the spell on her arms, stroking her hair and letting his finger trail over her mouth as he said: "Remember your vow."

Eyes wide, she struggled to get free, letting her magic strain against his, not understanding what he was after. But whatever it was, she didn't think it boded well for herself. 

With a zinging zap of magic, he Divested both her and himself of all their clothing, letting the clothes fall haphazardly on the floor, like they had been in a hurry to get naked. She started, suddenly deadly afraid that he'd force her, ice-cold clamps tearing at her heart, ripping into her natural bravery.

Her fears were obviously coming to pass, as he backed her up against a shelf, while her fists pummeled his arms and chest as hard as she could. Grabbing hold of her hands, he forced both over her head, holding her tight, and used his other arm to wrench her legs around his hips, grinding himself at her. "Remember," he said intently, "you vowed to support me and back me up in my claims tonight." 

He quickly released the Silencing spell, but before she could scream, he fired of a spell that made a total racket, tearing down shelves – oddly, no shelves with potion ingredients were touched, only those with empty jars and cauldrons.

The door was wrenched open by the four Aurors invited for the evening, wands at the ready, stalking in to find the troublemakers, and several wizards and witches stood behind them, peering into the store room at the disturbance. And then she understood.

The shocked, gaping audience saw a naked boy and girl, caught in an incriminating position. _In the public eye, this was proof that Tom Riddle was fucking her. Caught in the middle of a party with influential guests, it would be_ _a major scandal._

Time seemed to slow down, as Tom yelled in fake surprise, quickly Conjuring a blanket to cover her with, then one for himself, and as he turned, she once again had to admire his acting abilities. _ That is, if he hadn’t just turned that ability against herself. _

"This isn't, well, it is, I'll do the right thing," he stuttered, looking pale and anxious, and then he turned to her, moving smoothly down on one knee, blanket clutched around his waist.

"Please, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Xxxx

Sometime later, she sat in Professor Merrythought's office by her fire. Her clothes were back on, but she was shivering, clutching a glass of Firewhisky in her hands. 

Merrythought herself and the Divination teacher, Professor Urmina Doncasing, were looking at her with stern expressions.

"I don't think Hogwarts have had a scandal like this before, Hermione," Merrythought said gravely. "The two of you have quite effectively ruined your reputation, and I suppose we don't have to tell you that you're the one who will be suffering the brunt of this. By all rights, you should have been expelled, both of you, but the Headmaster has already decided that you'll get to stay. In his magnanimousness, the Headmaster has decided that Hogwarts will pay for your marriage, within reason, of course, to make sure this scandal settles down."

"Like I told you, I… I don't want to marry him," she said weakly.

Merrythought sighed, looking at Professor Doncasing. "You tell her, Urbina," she said tiredly. The Divination teacher was a small, smartly dressed woman with glasses and her grey hair up in a bun. _ Very far from Trelawney, _Hermione thought.

"Miss Granger," Doncasing said. "I'm loath to tell you this, but without a marriage, the wizarding world at large will view you as … something of a fallen witch. To be caught in public like this sets you somewhat in the category of those unfortunate witches that are working in Knockturn Alley."

The two of them had dragged her off from the party quickly at Dippets behest, being the only two female teachers at Hogwarts. This, Hermione supposed, was their idea of talking sense into her.

_ Slughorn had shooed everyone out, his face livid to have his party destroyed, and by Patronus he had Summoned Dippet and Merrythought. Dippet had looked at Tom with a serious face, and asked why in Merlin's name he had thought it was a good idea to make love to his girlfriend in a public space. Tom's acting abilities came to light again, but as Hermione was asked to confirm her acceptance of his proposal, she found that her wand oath held her. _

_ She wasn't able to tell her teachers the truth, nor refuse his proposal, as her stupid, stupid Vow held her. Instead she had nodded, seeing a short glint of satisfaction in Tom's eyes. It was only later, after she had arrived in Merrythoughts office, that she had been able to tell them she didn't want to marry him. And then she had shouted her refusal, making Merrythought's collection of brandy snifters rattle, the sound reverberating from the stone walls. _

"So, Miss Granger. I'm sure you understand what this means for you. There will be no decent job openings for you after this, and there will absolutely be no other offers of marriage. Your friends will be forced by their families to forswear your friendship. If you should decline, you'll have to scrape a living by the basest means possible, with no support from anyone you know. You need to marry him. If not, you must be prepared to live your life as a fallen witch. It will be harsh."

_ Oh, yes, she could very well picture what it would mean for her future in the forties to not marry Tom Riddle after this. He had clearly forced her hand, that sneaky bastard. _

Merrythought took over, continuing, her eyes softening: "What the two of you did is nothing worser than what all young couples do. The difference is the public shaming. The two of you were incredibly stupid as to call attention to yourself in such a setting, and you will now pay the consequences. Tom might still get job offers, because people will view him differently than you. It is unfair, but it is an unfortunate fact that you must face. Hermione, please, I would have loved for you to go on studying, maybe even becoming a Hogwarts teacher, because we had such high hopes for you. But now, you must save yourself. Do not cause yourself to be an outsider of society. Get married quickly, and the public will forget about this."

"I want to see him," she said suddenly.

Her teachers exchanged a glance. "Do you think that's wise…" Doncasing murmured. 

"I will, before I make a decision," she maintained stubbornly. 

Sitting in front of the fire, she still felt bitterly cold. 

Xxxx

As he stood before her in Merrythought’s office, she cast a Silencing spell around them, since the teachers obviously was loath to let them be alone. _ Small wonder, _ she thought wryly, _ as their teachers probably thought they would be shagging like animals the very moment they were out of sight. _

She stared at him. "You tricked me."

"I did." The admission came easily to his lips, and he stared straight at her. He didn't seem at all embarrassed or perturbed.

"Why?"

"You refused me. I wanted you." His eyes seemed almost earnest, but then again, who was she fooling? _ This was Lord Voldemort, not some randy schoolboy. This was part of a sick plan, obviously. _ He reached out his hand slowly towards her face, his thumb caressing her cheek in slow circles.

"Why did you think this was a good idea? Things like this are precisely why I turned you down in the first place. This _ is _ why I don't want you." She could see herself in a large mirror on the wall, and it was clear that she looked as bad as she felt. Her eyes looked positively _ haunted. _

"I realize that. I had to make a setting where you would have to say yes. Now, I've ruined your reputation, and you have to come to me. But I hoped I wouldn't have to resort to something like this. It would have been better if you had chosen me yourself. But in the end, it doesn't matter. I told you, I get what I want."

Looking at him, she felt as her dry eyes should be welling with tears. _ She couldn't do this, she didn't want to. _ But her options were limited_. _

She could dare facing the morals of the forties living alone, while trying to stop him. Or, she could try to kill him at once, most likely leading herself into a prison cell in Azkaban or being killed, or splitting up her soul further if she managed to kill him. She could go along with him into darkness ever after, Sorbonne or no Sorbonne, try to change the timeline as she might, marrying him now, and opt for a chance to destroy his Horcruxes and him some time later.

Sighing, she clutched her vine wand, steeling herself. She had made her decision.


	17. Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Getting cold feet?” 
> 
> Tom’s voice was too-light, like he had seen something he didn’t quite like.
> 
> She jumped a mile high, before scowling at him. His fucking nerve…! Forcing her hand, and then asking if she had cold feet?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read this on FFnet, there'll be one new scene in this chapter. Thanks for telling me what you think!

Her eyes fastened on his face, a million thoughts whizzing through her head, as she whispered almost inaudibly "yes." 

Her stomach was roiling, and she felt sick. This wasn't the happy moment she had envisioned as a proposal scene when she was younger, far from it. _ How to rectify this situation and take back some measure of control? _

His shoulders slumped, like he was relieved, and he leaned down to kiss her, only to have Merrythought and Doncasing stopping him, the latter tutting with an air of impatience.

"Is it settled, then?" Merrythought said, and Hermione lifted her Silencing Spell.

"Yes," he said, mustering a happy smile. Hermione was scowling, crossing her arms across her chest, staring in another direction.

"Good," Merrythought breathed. "That was a wise move, Hermione. It's also good to see that your intentions were proper, Tom, though your transgressions and infringement on what will be your husbandly rights are looming rather large at the moment."

Hermione felt a weak flicker of anger – _ bloody husbandly rights – _ but this night had seen too much trouble already, and she wasn’t about to add more by attacking a teacher for stupid use of language. And yet again, her teachers praised _ him _ – the real transgressor – for doing the right thing. _ The world wasn't a fair place, not at all. _

"I want to get married on the 14 April at the latest," Tom announced, and their teachers looked shocked again, and Hermione snapped to attention. _ Why the rush? _ she thought.

"Surely, to get married during the school year is most uncommon," Merrythought said quickly. 

"It's almost unheard of, though there have been a few cases, mostly relating to… You aren't pregnant, are you?" she shot sharply at Hermione.

"No," she said bitterly. "I'm quite sure."

"I have ruined her reputation, and I want to clear it as soon as possible," he said, seeming oh so earnest.

"I can see that," Doncasing said, her voice warm as she looked at him. Turning to Merrythought, she said: "We should support that. It _ is _ the right thing to do, even if it is unusual."

_ Merlin. In a little more than a fortnight, she'd be married to Lord Voldemort. How's that for an Easter egg, _she thought bitterly to herself. But really, when she had to marry him in the first place, it didn't matter if it was in two weeks or three months.

Xxxx

She trudged back to the dungeons, escorted by Merrythought. The Slytherin Common Room became instantly quiet as they entered, and she held her head down, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Merrythought gripped her shoulder, steering her in the direction of the dorm. 

Just outside the emerald green door, Merrythought stopped. "Well, here we are," she said gruffly. "I really had such high hopes for you, Hermione. I thought you would go far. That's why I'm both sad and angry to see you almost waste your future like this. You probably thought we acted harshly tonight, but that's nothing to how the rest of the wizarding world would react. But remember, in a few years, this will be forgotten. Then you can make a career, if you want to, and I'm sure you'd do damn fine whatever you choose to do. Goodnight, Hermione. We do wish you well in this marriage, even though events seem to have forced you into this too early."

Hermione gave her teacher a small smile. She did appreciate Merrythought’s gruff kindness, though her teacher didn't know half of what had actually happened.

"Goodnight, Professor," she said, and entered her dorm.

Closing the door, she had barely time to turn around before she was met with a shout: "What were you _ thinking _!"

Mariette and Walburga were sitting on their beds, while Joanna stood on the floor, shaking her tiny fist to her. "How could the two of you be so inherently stupid? _ Everyone _ will know about this. Have you any idea of what kind of gossip people outside and inside school will be up to? This is going to cause so much trouble for you!"

She stood still, looking at her dorm mates. Shaking her head, she made a decision. _ Why should she protect him? Why should she get scolded by everyone, even her friends? _

"Are the two of you getting married?" Walburga's voice was very small.

"Yes," she said heavily.

"Oh." Walburga looked down, twisting her hands in her lap for a moment, before taking a deep breath. "Good luck," she said, "you're going to need it." Her eyes met Hermione's, and this time, there was no animosity in her big, green eyes.

_ " _Thank you," she replied. "You are right, I will need luck, lots of it."

Mariette said warily: "Is he going to stand by that proposal?"

Hermione looked at her, irritation spiking in her body. "Oh, he's going to stand by it. In fact, he engineered this whole situation because I refused him earlier."

Walburga didn't look surprised, but Mariette and Joanna gasped. "What do you mean, he set this up?" Joanna said, skepticism in her voice.

"Absolutely. He Disarmed and Silenced me, dragged me into that room, removed our clothes, positioned us and made that racket to get everyone come running." Her voice was more than a little bitter, and she looked steadily at her friends, refusing to blush or look away. _ She had done nothing wrong. _

"No, seriously, no one does that kind of things…" Mariette started weakly, but Walburga interrupted her.

"Tom would do such a thing. It isn't normal, not by far, but I'm not surprised." Looking at Hermione, she said: "Do you know why?"

Joanna said: "It has to be because of love. He must love you madly!" Her voice was a little unsure.

Hermione shared a look with Walburga, before shaking her head. "No, I don't think that's the reason," she said kindly, "but I'm in the dark as to why."

"You should find out. It might be an unpleasant surprise if you don't," Walburga suggested.

Xxxx

When she finally had satiated the curiosity of her friends, it was a relief to close the bed curtains. _ Alone, at last_. She put a Silencing Spell up around her bed for good measure, just in case she would be swearing out loud. Sitting down, cross-legged in her pyjamas, she just concentrated on breathing for a few minutes, calming those red flickers of rage that were eating on her insides. _ She couldn't do anything about this marriage. It had to happen. She had lost a battle to Tom Riddle, but that didn't mean she'd lose the war. She needed a plan for making this work in her favour. _

The pros and cons for herself was rather easy to spot. She'd have more time and easier access to his Horcruxes than before, and she could also try to steer him into a different path, though that would undoubtedly be difficult, probably impossible. 

As for influencing his activities, she was unsure of what he himself was expecting. He might think her to act like a mobster's wife, living in the dark as to what her husband did, but she rather didn't think so. He had invited her into his group of followers, after all.

There would be sex, obviously… _ Well, she didn't quite know what to think about that _ . Blushing slightly, she was sure it would be enjoyable, based on their previous activities. But then again, it would be _ Lord Voldemort _ who'd take her virginity and make love to her on a regular basis, and that was all wrong. Still, no – she'd cross that bridge when she got there.

The obvious downsides were, of course, the risks. First and foremost the risk of being found out. She strongly suspected that he wouldn't be too happy to find out her reason for traveling back in time was to stop him, possibly kill him. There was also a risk of being dragged deeper into dark magic and unspeakable acts – and the very real risk that he'd somehow find out everything about his future. He would likely continue to try to manipulate her, maybe even hurt her or worse. And go ahead marrying someone she knew to be the most evil wizard of all times was … Oh, well, it didn't do any wonders for her opinion of _ herself _.

But her big problem was what _ he _wanted out of this. She had no clue – yet. But, there were still a few steps she could take to protect herself from him. She'd only have to plan carefully, and she would need a lot of practice.

Xxxx

The next morning, she seriously debated with herself about skipping breakfast, thinking about the stares she would draw in the Great Hall. She told her friends to go along, claiming she had something to do before breakfast. After Joanna and Mariette had left, Walburga stopped at the door, her hand on the latch.

"You remember," Walburga said softly, "I told you he'd end up taking you, if you didn't go along?"

"Yes," she replied morosely. "And he did, didn't he?"

"Most definitely," the black-haired girl said. "Though I have to say, I never thought he'd do something like this. For him to make you a permanent fixture in his life, you must be very important to him. I don't know what it is, but I would guess he sees you as imperative to his success. I would just like to say, I hope whatever he needs you for, it isn't for something awful."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, closing her eyes for a moment as Walburga silently closed the door behind her. Sometime later, she made her way down in the common room, thinking to sneak by the kitchen to get a snack from the House-elves.

"There you are," he said a little relieved, getting up from a chair. "I almost thought you weren't going to show." She jumped a little, being occupied with her own thoughts.

"Err, hi," she said, a little stupidly.

"We'll make an entrance together," he said, holding his arm out to her.

"No, I was just thinking about skipping…" 

"No, you won't," he said. "They'll only gossip more in our absence. Better to meet it head on. Just relax, hold on to my arm, and I'll deal with them."

She knew he was right about the gossip, but it didn't make her feel any more comfortable. "How will you deal with them? Do you have a spell for intimidating a whole room into silence, too?"

"No spells. Just me," he said, giving her a crooked smile. Taking his arm, they wandered through the corridors. The din from the Great Hall grew as they got closer, and he turned to her. 

"Ready?"

"No," she said earnestly. He squeezed her arm, and they stepped forward into the doorway. 

Standing still for a moment, the noise from people talking died down for a moment, before whispers grew and some people started pointing, some even standing up to get a better look.

As they took a step forward, she felt him _ shift_. It wasn't physical, but it was almost palpable, like he turned on a switch, letting the full force of his power come to bear on their fellow students. He swept the room with his gaze, and as he did, the whispers died, people were sitting down, looking away from them, quite a few looking ashamed and nervous. Peeking at him from underneath her eyelashes, she could see that his expression was very stern, unforgiving, even. _ No wonder people looked away from him, not wanting to draw his attention. _

They walked up to the Slytherin table, and sat down in silence. Gradually, the normal breakfast sounds started up again, forks and knives clinking on plates, mugs of pumpkin juice being poured into goblets, and people asking in subdued voices to be passed trays of sausages, eggs or toast.

"What did you do?" she asked, looking at him with curiosity. _ This was new, this was interesting. She had no idea that he could do such a thing. Sure, he could be intimidating, but to intimidate a room full of students was quite another matter. _

Leaning down to her, he whispered in her ear: "I didn't Occlude. Those parts of me that I usually hide or dampen, I let it all out in a push."

Baffled, she said: "All this, because you let your walls down?"

"For a moment, yes, and I pushed my magic out."

"I thought you never did that?"

"Only for you, my dear," he said with a teasing smile.

She scoffed at him, and he laughed at her, slinging his arm around her back, giving her a squeeze. Then she realized: gone was the tough player-act, and the boyfriend was back on the scene. Obviously, he wanted to present a façade of love, of all things, to the student body and the teachers. 

_ And here she thought he hated the idea of love_. _ Why was he playing with the image? _ Grimacing a little to herself, she plastered a smile on her face. She had decided to go along with this marriage, she'd have to play too.

Xxxx

After breakfast, Dippet stopped them on their way out. "I would like a word with the two of you."

They followed him swiftly and silently, past the gargoyle and up the moving stairs. Inside in his office, Dippet sat down heavily behind his desk. Hermione noted that this time, there were no chairs for them to sit on. _ Maybe making them stand in front of him was a punishment. _

"Merrythought told me about your wish to get married right after Easter. As you were told yesterday, Hogwarts will help you out with officiating the ceremony. Though a wedding is something to celebrate, we will not reward your errant behavior by making this a sumptuous feast. It will be a simple ceremony, but I will allow cake for the students after the ceremony. However, what I wanted to tell you today, is that we'll be splitting you up for the Easter holidays. Tom, as we understand, you have inherited a Muggle house, isn't that right?"

"Yes, Headmaster, but..." Tom said slowly, looking worried.

"You'll spend your holidays there." Dippet's look and tone indicated that he would brook no nonsense.

"But Headmaster, I…"

"This is not up for discussion. I can't take the responsibility for what the two of you could be up to in the castle during the holiday, and I won't have any more scandals on my hands."

"Can I bring Hermione with me, then?"

She could clearly see that Tom was enraged, but his tone was still polite. Personally, she couldn't have been happier. It fit into _ her _plans like hand in glove. She rested her hand on his sleeve, and said: "I think the Headmaster's decision has strong merits. It will help people to forget this. If I go with you, the impression of the scandal will be strengthened." 

Smiling at Tom with her mouth, she was well aware that he'd see the coldness in her eyes as she continued: "I will miss you, though."

Xxxx

She was so relieved. There were barely any students left in the castle, and he had at last gone off to Little Hangleton, though very reluctantly. Finally, she could relax and work on her plans.

Though well aware that he'd probably take his Horcruxes with him, she had decided to take a look at his wards once more. Bringing a vial with Polyjuice into her empty dorm, she dumped one of his hairs into the vial before downing it. As she grew in size, changing into him, she felt a little dizzy by her thoughts: _ In a few weeks, I'll have sex with this body, regularly. This body will take my virginity, and my own body will make this body spill its seed inside me. Oh well, if she had the time for it later, she'd… _

Disillusioning herself before sneaking into the seventh year boys' dormitory, she already knew that he had packed lightly, leaving his trunk. And right by his bed it was, thrumming with magic.

Like earlier, the touch of his hand made it possible to bypass the wards, but those last, inner wards still proved to be a problem. After thinking it through and trying out a few spellchecks, she reasoned that they had to be keyed to his wand as well. Snorting to herself, she knew that it would be almost impossible to get hold of his wand. _ Maybe if I Stun him in his sleep… _

Giving up for the time being, she retreated to her own dorm, pulling the curtains shut. Feeling both curious and embarrassed, she freed his – _ no, hers – _cock from the pants, and started to stroke it. It definitely felt good, but very different from what she was used to experiencing. 

She gave a start as it filled with blood, stiffening. The deliciously good, needy feeling was situated lower, more directly in the balls and the cock itself, and … Blushing, she broke off. _ It was interesting, but very, very wrong, like she was intruding on something she shouldn't, something private. _

Xxxx

From dawn to dusk, she was practicing wordless and wandless spells. Before, she could manage wordless magic but with her wand, and a few wandless spells with words. Now, she needed to master the combination. She put off all of her school work revising in lieu of practicing, and worked herself hard. After two days with no results, she knocked on Dumbledore's office door, realizing that she'd need some guidance.

"May I help you, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore's voice was cool, and he peered at her over his glasses, blocking the entrance into his office. She had the distinct impression that she wasn't welcome.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but I wondered if you could help me with some advice. I want to learn more about wordless and wandless magic…"

"I'm sorry, I don't have the time for it for the moment. You could ask you Defense professor, or maybe even your husband to be. _ He _seems to have a fine grasp on the matter."

Blinking, she stuttered out: "I need to learn this before…"

"I'm sorry, like I said. Good day, Miss Granger."

As the door shut, she stood outside, realizing that Dumbledore indeed had done more than shutting the door on her. He was now shutting her out, believing her to have made a wrong choice. It stung, but she didn't have time to ponder it. Moving on, she went to Merrythought’s office to ask the same question.

Xxxx

During the holidays, she got a permit for Apparating to Diagon Alley from Hogsmeade to buy a wedding dress. And, she needed to buy him a wedding ring too. As the doorbell rang in the jeweler's shop, a tiny, little witch stepped forward to greet her. "How may I help you?" she said.

"I'm looking for a wedding ring. I'm getting married just after Easter holidays."

"You're rather young, aren't you?" the shopkeeper said, looking searchingly at her.

"I'm of age," Hermione replied tartly. 

The shopkeeper smiled a little smugly, and said, "I meant no offense, dear. I was just thinking about something I heard… By the way, you aren't still in school, are you?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the witch, realizing that the rumors from the Slug Club must have spread far and wide indeed. Apparently, her glare was effective, because the witch jumped up, saying: "Just a moment, and I'll fetch a selection of suitable rings."

As the shopkeeper scurried off, Hermione spotted something while browsing the shelves. _ Yes, this is perfect. _"This one," she said decisively as the shopkeeper returned.

"It's a bit unusual for a wedding ring," the witch said derisively, "why don't you have a look at these rings instead?"

"No, this one it is," she said. "It's perfect for my … fiancé."

Later, she was meeting up with Joanna and Mariette in a café for lunch.

"There you are!" the two of them squealed, hugging her.

As they sat down, Joanna told her with a serious look: "My parents have actually forbidden me to meet you here. As far as they know, I'm having lunch with Mariette. I've tried telling them that this scandal will die down and that the two of you will be getting married soon, but this will take some time forgetting – just so you know it."

"I know," Hermione sighed. "The witch at the jeweler's was obviously on to who I am as well."

They chatted, and had a good time, until Joanna suddenly whispered furiously: "Hermione, Disillusion yourself! Mortucan and Hadrian Rookwood are entering!"

The feeling of a squashed egg running down her head enveloped her immediately, and she silently thanked Merrythought for her advice on wordless and wandless casting. She sidled out of her chair, picking up her bags silently.

"Hello girls," Mortucan said smilingly, kissing his fiancé's hand. "Joanne, your parents told me the two of you would be meeting for lunch, so I brought Hadrian Rookwood along. I'm sure you remember him from that Slug Club, Miss Penilworth?"

"Yes, indeed," Mariette said, blushing prettily at him as he grabbed her hand.

"You look just as lovely as you did that night, Miss Penilworth. I would have liked to end the evening on a more pleasant note, maybe to secure an opportunity to meet you again, but for that unfortunate incident." He smiled at Mariette, his eyes warm and crinkling at the corners, and he sat down beside her, still holding on to her hand.

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, as Mortucan Avery continued: "Yes, that was quite the scandal. I know the two of you were rather good friends with _ her _, but I do hope you will keep your distance as school commences. As for that boy, he is bloody brilliant and will make his way anyhow, but such behavior from a girl is shameful."

Her heart swelled a little in gratitude as Joanna narrowed her eyes at her fiancé, saying coldly: "They are getting married, Mortucan. Actually, just after Easter. I don't see why I shouldn't stick to my friends when they are put in a difficult position."

"Just after Easter? Well, that's good for them, but it doesn't change what happened," Mortucan said callously. "But, maybe that's what the boy was aiming for anyway. At the Malfoy ball, he asked me a lot of questions on Sorbonne's rules for married couples. He was very interested to learn that those rules only applied to couples that were married _ before _the application is sent."

Then she realized: _ The applications for Sorbonne had to be sent on 15 April. That's why he was in such a hurry. But why was he so set on dragging her along to Sorbonne? _

But, she had heard enough, besides it was both uncomfortable and risky to stay Disillusioned in the middle of a busy café. Silently, she withdrew, Apparating back to Hogsmeade.

Xxxx

The students returned to Hogwarts after the first week of April. When he arrived, he came straight for her, kissing her in the library, but the dour librarian Mr. Codwillopp chased them out, shouting: "Mr. Riddle! Restrain yourself, please. This is a place of learning, not a brothel!"

Well outside, he laughed a little, swirling her around in his arms, before kissing her quick and soundly. "Did you enjoy your Easter?" he asked.

A little breathless, she responded: "Yes. I got quite a few things done, and Hogwarts was very quiet. And you?"

"I tried to make that _ Muggle _house of mine habitable for wizards, adding a few things."

"Oh," she said, and then it suddenly struck her: "Will we be living there?"

"Yes," he said, eyes darkening with something close to desire, pulling her close to him again. "We will, my little wife." She was crushed to his chest, hearing his strong heart thud into his ribcage, and tried to suppress her rush of panic. _ Fuck, he wanted her to live with him in the house where he killed his family. It was … it was a scary thought. _

"Enough of that, Mr. Riddle," Slughorn's voice boomed through the corridor. Waddling closer, their Head of House peered at them. "You will temporarily be camping in my quarters, Tom. No, no, the Headmaster has decided that it will be so until the two of you are married. There'll be no sneaking outside at night, and no clandestine meetings during the day. This week, you'll only see each other in class, at meals and while in the library. All of your teachers will be keeping an eye on you."

Tom shrugged, and said politely: "Of course, professor. We'll behave." As for herself, she nodded in agreement, though privately she thought this was a little excessive.

"Come along, Tom, we've expanded my room with an additional guest room for you. Let's get you settled in," Slughorn commanded.

As he walked away with Slughorn, she could see that his fists were curling in anger, though.

Xxxx

The words were blurring across the pages, and she hadn’t read a single word for a long time. The library was quiet this late in the evening, most of the students having returned to their dorms a long time ago. 

She had tried everything: Breathing exercises, calming her head for Occlumency, meditation, but nothing could quite ease her anxiety. Not even the comforting smell of books, parchment and dust, and the feeling of being home, of belonging in the library helped. 

Tomorrow, she was going to marry Lord Voldemort. Tomorrow, her most recent nightmare would be real. _ She had made a choice, and she would stand by it. But still, marrying the most evil wizard to ever grace the earth was … daunting. Nauseating. Unbelievable. _

Hermione scrubbed her eyes, feeling as if the dry soreness behind her eyelids should have been eased by her non-existent tears. Hunching over the book, she rested her brow on her hands, hiding her face. _ Gods, she knew very well that this marriage also afforded her great opportunity to stop him from destroying the world, and she knew, she could do this. She could stop him, even from within a forced marriage. _Yet she couldn’t shake the near-panic, the trembling in her hands and her too-rapid breathing. 

_ Would he try to force her into unspeakable acts of cruelty and dark magic? Would he try to hurt her? Would he … be cruel to her in bed? How was she supposed to survive in a world where Lord Voldemort was the first person she’d see upon waking each morning? _

“Getting cold feet?” 

Tom’s voice was too-light, like he had seen something he didn’t quite like.

She jumped a mile high, before scowling at him. _ His fucking nerve…! Forcing her hand, and then asking if she had cold feet?! _

Looking at her, he had an odd, pinched frown on his face, and something unreadable flickered in his eyes. _ He almost looked hurt, though that clearly couldn’t be the case. _ With a snort, she threw her head back, straightening her back, _ No, he was most certainly genuinely surprised by her not being buzzing with excitement, narcissistic sociopath that he was. _

“You might have noticed, my feet haven’t been exactly _ warm _ at any point in this charade,” she drawled. _ She had to hide that anxiety. Telling Lord Voldemort that she was almost panicking would be a bad, bad idea. After all, she suspected he got off on fear, and she’d die before letting him know how worried she was. _

His lips thinned in displeasure, but to her surprise, he didn’t respond in kind. Instead, he shrugged. “You’ll be happy. You’ll be happy with me.” 

The odd thing was, it sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. 

  
  


Xxxx

Come morning on 14 April, she stood in the Great Hall in her white, simple wedding dress. It was ballerina length, with three-quarter long sleeves and a rounded neckline. Though, it wasn't all white. She had figured while shopping, that by marrying a dark wizard, the dress should at least have something black in it. Therefore, at the hem and at the neck, small black snakes were curling around themselves in an intricate pattern.

But really, she couldn't concentrate on anything. She felt just as nervous as she had before the Ministry hearing, dazed, like she wasn't fully present, and everything seemed unreal. The Great Hall were slowly filling up with students and staff, and Ton and her were standing in the back, waiting for the official. Her husband-to-be looked stunning, all in black dress robes, with shiny shoes and – of course – not a hair out of place. _ But maybe, _ she thought, _ maybe even he was a bit paler than usual. At least, he was twirling his pale yew wand between his fingers. She thought that was a sure sign of him being nervous or excited. _

Tom kissed her temple, and somehow, it made her even more confused, just like her head was filled with fluffy wool. As some of the staff greeted them in passing, she heard herself giving vague, almost nonsensical answers.

He asked neutrally: "Would you like me to talk to the official about our options for the ceremony? You seem a little nervous."

"Yes," she said, pressing her hands to her stomach, preoccupied with her own thoughts churning endlessly – _this can't be happening. I'm going to marry You-Know-Who. This can't be happening._ _I'm marrying Voldemort. It happens today._

As the official strode up to them with a beaming smile on his face, she greeted him with a nervous smile of her own. He seemed like a nice, older man, with a long, grey beard, and a red tunic covering a rather portly figure. She had absolutely no idea what his name was, even though he clearly had introduced himself to her.

Tom stepped forward, leading him by the arm away from her. As they were talking, she saw the official looking at her, asking him something with a worried frown, but obviously Tom's answer was satisfactory, as the official brightened and nodded eagerly. She tried to shake herself out of her stupor, but it was so difficult to focus. _ He couldn't have done something to her? No, she didn't think so, but she definitely wouldn't put it past him. Probably only cold feet, like he had asked last night, and last minute wedding worries. _She giggled almost hysterically, but thankfully only inside her head.

As Tom came back, gripping her arm again, they watched the Great Hall filled up with curious and staring students. _ Dumbledore looked worried, _ she thought, _ though that wasn't exactly a surprise to her. _ The rest of the teachers looked relaxed and happy, even Headmaster Dippet. 

The official motioned for them to move forward, until they stood on the dais in front of everyone, the Head table cleared away for now. The old man cleared his throat, patting down his robes over his stomach, and began: "We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Hermione Jean Granger and Tom Marvolo Riddle. As everyone knows, once the ritual has started, it must be completed to keep our couple safe. So therefore, speak up, or remain silent."

She saw Dumbledore looked questioningly at her, and she shook her head slightly. Still he seemed worried and unhappy.

"No one?" the official said. "Very well, let the marriage ritual begin. Will you please hold hands, both hands."

She felt herself swallow nervously, as Tom took her hands. The official lifted his wand and performed a complicated movement, casting: "_ Amor Acternam." _ A golden hued column sprang up between them, splitting itself and flowing between their hands and wrists.

The audience gasped, and some of them frowned, whispering to each other. She heard repeated whispers of the _ “Amor Acternam _? Really?" 

Dumbledore was wringing his hands, slowly, looking even more worried. _ Was there something off with the ritual? _ But her head was much too foggy to concentrate properly, and she opted to stare at the beautiful, warm golden color between them, finding joy in its beauty.

The official intoned: "By this Tom Marvolo Riddle and Hermione Granger are making a magical binding promise to love each other to the best of their abilities from this day and beyond death itself."

Her breath hitched. _ What? A magical binding promise? Beyond death? _But it was only getting worse.

"Will you, Hermione, swear to obey, love and cherish this wizard to the end of your days and beyond?"

She gaped, and the audience gasped. Clearly, this wasn't the run-of-the-mill wedding ceremony. _Oh no,_ _she shouldn't have left the details of the ceremony up to him! Swearing to obey Lord Voldemort for all eternity? _But there was no panic button for her to reach now.

Tom leaned down, whispering in her ear: "Can't stop when the ritual has started, you know." She could see he wore a faint smile. _ Would breaking the ritual kill them? Was it that easy? Probably not. _

Grudgingly, and with teeth clenched, she expected to drag the words out of her mouth when she heard herself saying with a loud and clear voice: "I do." _ What? Did I just say that? _

The fog momentarily lifted from her brain, rendering her mindscape clear, and she narrowed her eyes at him. _ He had, hadn’t he? Cursed her with the Imperius in front of the whole school! _

Her anger was blown away by surprise as the golden bond simultaneously became pinkish, and stretched out to her chest and embedded itself deep inside her– _ in her heart _, she was sure. It tickled a little and she felt warm and soft inside, and the sensation almost made her smile.

The official turned to Tom, and said: "Will you, Tom, swear to protect, love and cherish this witch to the end of your days and beyond?"

Tom said loudly: "I do." 

She snorted to herself. _ Hah, so now Lord Voldemort had sworn to protect her? She could work with that! _The now rose-colored bond anchored itself to his chest, too, and she saw him shift a little, like it was uncomfortable. The color darkened somewhat, purplish streaks bleeding into the pink.

The official motioned for Hermione to take out the ring she was to give to Tom. She repeated after him: "With this ring I wed thee, Tom Marvolo Riddle, for all eternity and beyond." Putting the slim, golden ring shaped like an entwined serpent on his finger, she saw Tom give her a surprised, quick glance, but with an appreciative nod.

The hovering, magic bond between them grew thicker, and the color changing into a deeper, reddish tinge. Tom repeated the same lines after the official, and then he hesitated a little. 

Suddenly he had the Gaunt ring in his hand, and pressed it onto her finger. She gasped a little – _ he gave her the Horcrux as wedding ring? – _and stared wide-eyed at him, before her eyes moved to the fiery red, swirling sparks that lit up the bond between them. 

The audience became restless, people were shuffling each other to get a better look, and she heard a faint whisper spreading in the room. Tom looked a little nervous and worried – _ as if that bastard had any right to being nervous, seeing as he tricked her into this – _and he shifted on his feet, clasping her hands hard. "Brace yourself," he whispered to her.

The official lifted a small, ornately carved silver knife, chanting: "Bound by promise, bound by rings, bound by blood, let your magic powers merge!" He took hold of their hands without parting them, and deftly slitted first her hand and then Toms. As the wounds were pressed together, she felt a strong, overwhelming surge of magic entering her body, rampaging violently through every cell, making her skin tingle, and she gasped from a mixture of pain and pleasure. Toms expression was rapt and his breathing quick and shallow, and as their eyes met she felt a deep connection settling in her body.

"I now declare you husband and wife!" the official boomed. And then the bond exploded into a thick, crimson column shooting through the roof. The audience gasped, and shouts of surprise and wonder filled the Hall. 

Girls were sighing with starry eyes, the boys were gaping, though some were sniggering. The teachers applauded heartily, and someone yelled "Congratulations!"

She gazed in wonder at the beautiful, strong color, and then she observed that Tom was looking shocked. Pale and shocked, and angry and embarrassed. Spots of color showed on his cheekbones, and he was deliberately not meeting her eyes.

"You may now kiss your wife, young man!" the official shouted over the din. And then he looked at her, with a hungry, possessive look in his eyes. He clamped down on her mouth, effectively stopping her from saying anything. The kiss was deep, passionate, and she almost forgot that there were hundreds of people looking at them. When he broke the kiss, her chest was heaving and she felt oddly lightheaded, clinging to him afterwards to steady herself. And he _ still _seemed to be embarrassed.

Slowly she understood that there was something odd with people's reaction. They were still whispering, marveling at the slowly fading crimson column, pointing at them and talking excitedly, like something very unusual had happened. 

From his reaction, she realized that he knew what it was. And, being Hermione Granger, she _ didn't _like to be the last one to know.

In front of them, people were queuing up to offer well-wishes and congratulations, with Headmaster Dippet in front. He shook their hands, saying: "On behalf of Hogwarts, I do wish you well in this marriage. Seeing as the ceremony went, I can't see anything but happiness in store for the two of you. We have a gift for you today. On the fourth floor in the western tower, there's an unused quarter, meant for a teacher. Nothing big, nothing fancy, you understand, but the two of you can move in together instead of staying in your dorm."

People clapped and whistled, and she felt herself blush, as they thanked Dippet for the privilege of their own room.

When Dumbledore came up to them, it became clear that something strange indeed had happened. "Congratulations, Hermione," he said, a tear blinking in his eye. "I see that I was wrong to worry about this, and I wish you well from all my heart."

Turning to Tom, he continued: "And I'm afraid I might have wronged you, Tom, suspecting that you were up to no good with this, but now I realize that you will care for Hermione. Remember, love is more powerful than all other forms of magic, and I hope you will be happy together."

Tom stared hard at Dumbledore, and gritted out: "Thank you, sir," snapping his mouth shut, looking furious. Hermione blinked, still in the dark of what all this could mean. _ What had made Dumbledore change his mind? _

Joanna and Mariette kissed her with tears in their eyes, saying: "This is so wonderful, you are so lucky. We wish you the best of luck!" _But why would her friends who _**_knew_** _the real reason behind the marriage say something like that to her? She felt more and more uncomfortable by the minute._

Walburga whispered to her: "Maybe this _ was _the reason you're looking for. It's hard to believe, and I would suggest to look for ulterior motives, but still…"

The Slytherin boys looked amused, and some of them even sniggered as they congratulated them. The rage in Tom's eyes promised them rounds and rounds of the Cruciatus, she was sure. At Abraxas wide grin and his offhand comment of: "I didn't think you had it in you, Tom," he very nearly exploded, his hand on her arm almost quivering.

After all the heartfelt congratulatory wishes, she felt almost _ sick _ by not knowing what apparently everyone else knew. As Dippet wanted them to toast, she tried to clear her nagging curiosity from her mind to make herself ready. She hoped the House-elves had upheld their promise, or else she'd be in trouble.

_ Last night, she had gone down into the kitchens, the little vial clenched in her fist. Asking for the one who'd be responsible for serving the bride and groom tomorrow, a small elf named Seldy had stepped forward. Hermione had told Seldy she had a present for her dear husband to be, a lovely potion, that she hoped Seldy could make sure got into his goblet for the first toast of the wedding. Seldy had nodded eagerly, promising to make sure that Master Tom got his gift from the good Mistress Hermione. _

Fiddling with the heavy ring on her hand, she wondered if it would affect her badly to go around with a piece of the darkest magic known to wizardkind on her finger, while having another piece of dark magic - her Time-Turner - around her neck. They toasted left and right, and as he had emptied his goblet, she knew it was time. Bracing herself, she wordlessly and wandless cast the runes "_Eihwaz_" and "_Naudiz_", letting them slowly sink into his left side.

He stiffened momentarily, wincing slightly like he was in pain, before hissing to her: "What did you do?"

"Defending myself," she said smugly, immensely pleased that she had managed to trick _ him _. 

Now, thanks to her own spell and potion creation, he couldn't use his magic to harm her without it backfiring on himself. _ How's that for levelling the field _, she thought, almost doing a little victory dance on the spot.

As expected he was angry, but to her surprise, he also seemed a little hurt, saying stiffly: "I thought you'd at least understand after _ today _that I wouldn't hurt you. Is this the same spell you used on Walburga?"

His emphasis on _ today _ kicked her curiosity into overdrive again, as she said: "Yes. You can't harm me with your magic." He threw her an angry glare, and huffed.

Sometime later during the eating of wondrously cakes formed as little castles with candy hearts fluttering in and around the towers like doves, she managed to excuse herself, pretending to go to the bathroom. 

Well outside the Great Hall she hurried to the library. Summoning all books in the library on marriage customs and ceremonies, for once not caring that she made a total mess of the library, she found a book called ‘_Wizarding Weddings and Ancient Marriage Customs'._ Furiously leafing through the chapters, she found what she was looking for.

"_Until the turn of the 20th century, most British wizarding weddings included a ceremony where the wife would promise to obey her husband, the Amor Acternam ritual. In an ingenious stroke of male chauvinism embedded in the ritual, this ritual actually does not need the bride to be honest about her intention to obey her husband. For the promise to be magically binding, it only requires her to say the words "I do" out loud. With the rise of awareness of witches rights and empowerment, the ritual was widely criticized (…)" _

"Damn," she swore. _ He would actually be able to demand her obeisance_! That had to be it, he wanted her to do something that he was convinced she wouldn't do. But at least, now he wouldn't be able to hurt her with his magic. She flicked through the pages, looking for an explanation to the changing colours of the magical bond to explain the oddity of everyone's behavior.

_ "The colours of the marriage bond have a deep significance, and it is a popular topic for gossip and curiosity for the spectators. Colours varies from all the hues of the rainbow, but light colours signify rather cold and distant feelings between the newlyweds, while darker and deeper colours signify an increasing rate of passion and love. Blue, yellow or green may mean that there are warm feelings between the couple, but a predominantly pink or red bond is considered to show romantic love. Consequently, a deep red crimson is considered as the strongest expression of passionate, true love between the couple, but this colour is rather rare in marriage ceremonies (…). _

She couldn't believe her eyes. The strongest expression of passionate love? As if any feelings between her and freaking Lord Voldemort was **true love**? 

Shaking her head in disbelief, she read on:

_ "But this is a curious case of popular misunderstanding. What the colour of the bond actually does, is to prophecy the strength of the two partners' love for each other according to their capability for love. This means that couples with a great capability for love, but with lukewarm feelings for each other will produce a lighter colored bond. Similarly, a couple with little capability for love, but where the strength of their feelings will be a maximum in relation to their capability, will produce a deeply coloured bond. Even crimson bonds have been known in such cases. The colour is produced by the couple's mutual feelings, so a crimson colour would not occur unless both parties have reached or will reach their maximum amount of possible love (…) _

She was not okay with this. _ Not at all_! There was no way in hell she loved him, not even the tiniest bit. _ He's a despicable, evil bastard! _ Moreover, she was quite sure that he didn't care much for her, but perhaps, she conceded, what he may feel for her that was the maximum extent of his capability. _ Possibly, enjoying talking to her, wanting to sleep with her and not wanting to kill her – yet – was his equivalent of ‘love’. _

But as for herself… She felt both ashamed and scared. _ Was she really so cold and shallow, that _ **_this,_**_ whatever she felt for him,_ _ was true love for her? Was her emotional range that decimated? It was much worse than she'd have anticipated. _

Swallowing, she realized she had to go back to her wedding party. Someone was bound to notice if the bride went missing.

Xxxx

Back in the Great Hall, she went to his side again. "Where have you been?" he said lightly, though she could sense a touch of irritation.

"In the library," she mumbled.

His eyebrows shot up. "What, today?" His tone was incredulous.

"Yes. I didn't know why people acted so strangely to the ceremony."

"Oh." He became very stiff, still clearly embarrassed and irritated, avoiding her gaze. "And now you know?"

"Yes." Raising up on her toes, whispering in his ear, she hissed angrily: "And I can't fucking believe it!"

He laughed out loud in surprise, saying: "Me neither."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, still no smut? Well, I guess we'll be looking forward to the next chapter, then... *winks*


	18. The Green Sofa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had to let go. She had to let herself feel the sensations, and not think about who he really was and who he would become. Don't think, Hermione, or this will be both unpleasant and horrible. Don't think. Just feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. Say no more. ;-)
> 
> Though - you did read the tags, didn't you?

They entered their new quarters in the western tower sometime in the afternoon. She cast a brief glance around her, noting that it consisted of a small, rotund sitting area, with a large fireplace, two wingback chairs in front of it with a small table, a small, worn green sofa and a large desk. 

The window was facing the lake, letting in the afternoon sun. The walls were covered by partly empty, mahogany bookshelves, like the last teacher that lived here hadn't bothered to bring all the books when moving out, and their own collection had yet to fill up the space. A door opened into the bedroom, where a large bed with green Slytherin hangings stood proudly in the middle of the room. _ The bed… Suddenly, she felt nervous. This was it. _

He stepped into the room after her and closed the door. Turning to her, he started to say: "Cursing me in our wedding was really…" She swallowed, making her eyes meet his, while her heart hammered in her chest. _ Of course he'd be furious. But it was no worse than what he had done to her. Somehow, she knew he wouldn't see it quite like that. _

He looked at her intently, and shook his head. "Not now," he mumbled to himself. Stalking up to her with a predatory look, his mouth crashed down on hers. It was a violent, passionate kiss, and his tongue slipped into her mouth, twisting, licking, playing with her, his lips sucked on her bottom lip before opening up again to devour her, like he owned her. 

One hand grabbed her head, fingers threading into her hair, pulling at it, while the other was firmly placed around her waist, fingers splayed at the small of her back. Hesitantly, her own arms rose around his neck, and she made her mouth respond to his kiss. _ She had to let go. She had to let herself feel the sensations, and not think about who he really was and who he would become. Don't think, Hermione, or this will be both unpleasant and horrible. Don't think. Just feel. _

He backed her up to the wall, grabbing hold around her thighs and lifting her. She locked her legs around his hips to keep herself steady, the skirt of her dress hiking up, and he ground himself into her core, making her gasp. His mouth left hers, trailing kisses and bites down her neck, and she shivered with pleasure, even though some of those bites _ hurt. _

Leaning his head back, he growled at her: "This time, I'll finish inside you. I've waited too damn long for that to happen."

Her abdomen clenched in a needy response, but her brain fired off a distress signal. Her hands jerked, but she used the motion to grab hold of his hair with one hand, tugging him back to her mouth. _ Just feel, Hermione. _

She ground her hips against his, and felt his erection straining underneath his dress robes. He grunted, using one of his hands to hold her up by cupping her butt, and the other one traveled up her side to her breast. Palming her, he used his thumb to find her dress-covered nipple, rolling it, making the bud stiffen. She moaned into his mouth, again undulating her hips to touch his hardness.

He backed away from the wall, letting her slide down, and panted to her: "Too much clothes. I want to undress you."

Turning her around, her back to him, he started by unbuttoning her dress. Letting it fall down, pooling at her feet, he whispered: "I appreciated the snakes. And my ring. Very appropriate, but maybe you already know why." 

Letting his hands run down her sides, he moved one to her abdomen, letting it trail over her garter belt and down to her silk knickers, rubbing the front. "It's wet down here," he said a little wickedly in her ear, with a smug and satisfied note. She gasped as his rubbing became more insistent, closing her eyes and leaning her head back into his chest, spreading her legs more to give him better access. 

His other hand cupped her breast, teasing the nipple, rolling it between his fingers, before moving his attention to her other tit. She looked down, swallowing by the sight of his large hands and long fingers working her body, and she was unable to not let her hips wriggle. _ She needed more, underneath the fabric of her knickers, now! _

"Please," she almost sobbed.

"Please what?" his smirk was almost audible to her ears.

"Please take off my knickers, touch me!"

"As my lady commands," he almost hummed to her, turning her around again, kneeling in front of her. He slowly lowered her knickers down her silk-clad legs, taking his time, caressing her legs at the same time, and as she lifted first one leg, then the other to step out of her knickers, she could smell her own arousal. He could too, and he looked almost reverently up between her legs. 

Busying himself by taking off her shoes first, he then spread her legs apart, and leaned in with his tongue. She _ trembled_. His tongue flicked lightly in between her folds, and his hands spread her outer lips apart. Then he stroked as much of her slit as he could, with a broad, flat movement of his tongue, repeating it again, before the hard tip of his tongue found her clitoris, tickling it. _ It was heavenly. _She gasped and shook, feeling as she was going to collapse soon, and held onto his head to steady herself.

"This is so good, oh, Tom, please, but I'm going to fall, my legs are shaking," she moaned.

"Mmm, but you taste so good," he grunted into her crotch, laughing a little at her. But he rose, and steered her over to the sofa, making her sit down. Kneeling between her legs again, he continued, squeezing his hands underneath her thighs, letting his fingers probe at her center. 

Her breath came in small, short gasps, and she felt that rhythmic build-up inside her, her precipice nearing. His tongue assaulted her clit, tickling, stroking, lapping at her, shoving her higher and higher. The need was building, and she grabbed her breasts, rolling her nipples between her fingers, feeling electric sparks shooting down towards her belly. The sight made his eyebrows go into his hairline, and his eyes smoldered with that dark fire that set off something primal inside her. 

As he again buried his mouth in her, she fell over her cliff, shaking, screaming, driven into the abyss by his wicked tongue, clenching and squeezing, hoarse sobs wrenching from her throat. As she stilled, little aftershocks twitching in her belly, he gave her a proud smile, his chin glistening with her juices, saying: "I should have put up a Silencing charm. There might be one or two people in Hogsmeade that didn't hear you, but I'm sure everyone in the castle know by now."

She blushed, starting to excuse herself, her body feeling all weak and floppy, like she had tensed up so much that she had no energy left at all, but he interrupted her: "No excuses. This was … enormously sexy. I don't mind if the whole world knows that I make you come like that. Especially that you scream my real name."

_ No, surely not again? What was wrong with her, moaning "Voldemort" in the throes of passion? _

She felt deeply ashamed of herself, and her blush deepened.

As he rose from his kneeling position, his eyes darkened, and he said: "Now it's my turn." She froze for a moment, and then she tried to scramble herself up in a sitting position. Reaching her shaking hands up to the buttons on his dress robes, he shook his head at her, and ran his hand along the buttons, releasing them magically. He wrenched his robes off, letting it fall to the floor, and repeated the same wordless and wandless spell on the buttons of his black shirt.

She got up to her knees in the sofa, not wanting to be totally passive in this, and put her hands on his abdomen, letting her hands trail upwards, feeling his chest hairs curl underneath her hands and his stomach break out in goosebumps as her hands moved up to his broad shoulders. 

Pulling his shirt down from his shoulders, she retreated, letting her mouth meet his chest, licking and nipping her way down towards his belt buckle. He drew a ragged breath, swearing softly under his breath: "Merlin's cock!"

Her hands unbuckled his belt, continuing to unbutton his trouser placket, feeling and seeing his hard cock strain right underneath. As she tugged his trousers down over his hips, he divested himself magically of his shoes and socks, before stepping quickly out his trousers. 

His boxers were more roomy, and the fabric tented almost obscenely fast, as his erection sprang free from his trousers. She held out her hand, stroking down the length of him, and he groaned deeply.

"I don't know how much I can take of this, before I need you," he breathed, eyes closed in bliss. 

She smiled a little wickedly, and slipped his boxers down, before leaning forward using the tip of her tongue on him. He shuddered, and his cock twitched, the head deeply red, and precum already pooling at the tip. She licked it off, and his eyes sprang open. "Hermione! You need to stop, I'm going to last for fifteen seconds inside you if you keep this up!" She chuckled, letting her tongue roll around him again, moving down his length.

He drew a ragged breath, before he almost snarled at her: "Enough of that, wife!" He grabbed her hair and almost yanked her back on the sofa. Moving up on the sofa himself, he turned her legs sideways and pushed her down on her back. He slowly crept up between her legs, holding her gaze the whole time.

She was quiet, but her breathing came fast and hard.

"Are you scared?" he said, looking curiously at her.

She licked her lips nervously. _ What would it mean to admit fear to Tom Riddle – Lord Voldemort – in such a setting? Would it turn him on more? Would it make him brutal? _ She didn't know, but her lips trembled_. Don't think, Hermione, don't think. _

"Yes," she said at last.

And then he _ fucking _smiled at her. "Fear is good," he breathed at her, "I love your fear. But I'm not going to hurt you. The pain shouldn't last long, and it will be better. Relax, I'll make it as easy as I can for you."

He moved up until he covered her body, pushed her legs wider, while leaning himself on one arm. Moving his hand down between their legs, he positioned the tip of his cock at her entrance and started pushing slowly into her.

She tensed up, thinking: _ It's too big, I can't do this, it's going to hurt!" _

"Shhh," he whispered at her, his head buried in the crook of her neck. "Relax, or else it'll hurt more. I can hear your thoughts, and the answers are I'll fit just fine, you can do this, and yes, it's going to hurt a little."

She tried to relax, not clenching her muscles, and he slowly slid the bulbous head of his cock inside her, filling up her entrance, stopping his movements for a moment. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily above her. Suddenly, with a hard thrust of his hips, he broke through her barrier, sheathing himself fully inside her. She gasped, feeling something tear and rip inside, and her walls were stretched out in a slightly painful, strange and unfamiliar way. _ It didn't hurt half as much as she had feared. _

He groaned, but kept still, letting her adjust to his size. "Are you alright?" he panted.

"Yes, I think so," she replied, carefully checking if her abdominal muscles obeyed her by clenching.

His eyes widened momentarily, and he grunted "Merlin ! You can keep doing that, it feels good."

He started moving inside her, slowly at first, rolling his hips a little, giving her shallow thrusts, and his breathing was picking up its pace rapidly. Into the crook of her neck, he kissed and bit her throat, and she slowly put her hands on his back, stroking him.

"I'm not going to last long this time," he groaned, "you'll get more later, but now, I need to come, very soon…" His thrusts were picking up both speed and strength, and she followed him, trying to meet his movements and clench around him like he told her too. 

He rose up on his arms to support himself, his cock now slamming inside her. As she looked up at him, his beautiful face a slack-jawed mask of ecstasy as he pounded into her, she thought: _ I never wanted to be a conquest for him. But I didn't take into account that he is essentially a conqueror. In refusing him, I became THE ultimate conquest. And now, he's claiming me. _

"Yes, I claim you!" he growled in response to her thoughts. "Tell me you're mine!" he demanded, supporting himself on one hand while his hips drove into her again and again. His brow was slicked with sweat, and his hair was falling into his eyes. "Tell me you're mine!"

"I'm yours," she whispered, "I'm yours. And you are mine too." At that he tensed up, losing his rhythm, thrusts becoming erratic, frantic even, and he spasmed inside her. "Oh, Hermione, you belong to me, you're mine, mine, mine, mine," he groaned, his eyes locked on her face, as she could feel his cock twitch violently inside her, sending spurts of his seed deep inside her. 

Stilling, for a moment, breathing hard, he laid his head down on her chest, and she stroked his hair with a tenderness she hadn't expected herself to show him.


	19. Sweet as Honey, Deadly as a Viper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His face suddenly flushed, an unhealthy, furious red staining his cheeks in a way Hermione had never thought she'd see, and he gritted out: "I can't, Professor. It's the vow, it won't let me. I promised to protect her, and I. can't. hex. her. at. all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for responding to the story! It means a lot to me. <3 
> 
> This chapter has the fluffiest scene in the whole story. I apologize in advance. Don't worry, there's plenty of darkness too. ;-)

As his breathing calmed, he pushed himself up again. Stretching out his hand, his wand came flying to him.

"What are you doing?" she said, a little confused, as he reached down between her legs, touching her sore parts.

"Availing myself of the opportunity, of course. Don't worry, you're in this too, and will get the same protection," he said, eyebrows furrowing as his fingers pried at her. She winced a little, and he withdrew his hand, fingers now covered in their mingled, bodily fluids.

"Protection? From what? Are you, no, please don't tell me you are going to do _ another_, dark virgin blood ritual?"

"Of course, but this is benign – in a way. So, they told you about my pointer ritual on top of the Astronomy Tower? It was quite … a spectacle." He chuckled a little at the outrage on her face, before his face turned serious. "My little wife, none of us are able to cast a Patronus anymore. Ordinarily, the spell I am about to perform gives us protection against dark creatures along the lines of a Patronus. With a little twist of mine, it will give us the power to _ control _dark creatures instead. Useful, isn't it?"

She stared at him, and snapped her mouth shut. _ It was indeed useful. If she'd ever met a Dementor, Merlin forbid, she would be helpless without a Patronus. Another way of keeping safe from them might come in handy. But really, most spells performed on a wedding night were rites of fertility and love. Trust him to come up with something wildly different, something involving _ ** _control_**.

Nodding slightly as she lay on her back on the sofa, she looked at him. This young man, _ her husband, _while kneeling naked between her legs, with a wet, limp, but impressively sized cock, still exuded so much power. 

He balanced back on his knees, closing his eyes for a moment in concentration. Opening his eyes, he drew his wand in a circle, leaving a dark red circle in the air that expanded and encompassed them. Smearing the mix of her blood and his semen on her brow and then his, she could see it took the shape of a rune, the ‘gebō,’ meaning _ gift. _ Then he drew another on her left breast, above her heart and on his own chest, the rune ‘ōƥila,’ _ possession. _ Touching the runes in quick succession with his wand, her blood lit up in painless, dancing flames of an incandescent ruby color, while his semen danced in silvery-bluish little waves. With a flick of his wand, he whispered "_Coerciti Creatura Magicum Noctiis." _The circle tightened around them, before flaring up into flames, while the runes on their bodies melted into their skin, leaving no trace but a faint warmth where they had disappeared.

"That wasn't so bad, was it, for a dark magic, virgin blood ritual?" He smiled at her, dark eyes dancing with the flush of his magic power, putting down his wand. "A little pain, a touch of fear, and then you're protected from Dementors, vampires and other terrors of the night."

She swallowed a little as he made light of her initial fear. _ No, she hadn't been scared of the pain, really, but to give herself to _ ** _him _ ** _ in all his evil glory_. He arched one eyebrow at her at that thought, and she thought as loud and as insistently as she could: "WHAT HAPPENED TO MY OCCLUMENCY SHIELDS?"

At that he laughed, and answered: "It's because they are down. It might be because of our physical intimacy, but likely it they are temporarily down because of the bonding. If you tried, I suspect you'd find that my shields are down at the moment, too. But don't try, and that's an order."

She made a face at him – _ he certainly seemed comfortable with ordering her – _and as she tried, she discovered that she just couldn't make herself reach out to his mind. The bond held, to her discomfort and irritation.

He took her hand, and dragged her up in a sitting position. She winced, feeling her soreness sting a little. A small healing spell fell from his lips, and she looked at him with gratitude.

"Thanks," she said, and he pulled her into him for a brief moment.

"Come," he said, smiling wickedly. "It wasn't entirely unselfish. Let's try that big bed of ours."

He picked her up easily, hefting his arm underneath the crook of her knees, and carried her into the bedroom, before putting her down in the middle of the bed. Kissing her deeply, his hands roamed down to her chest, fondling her nipples.

"We'll be at this all night," he whispered, "now that I finally can have you. I'll spend so much time inside you, that you'll be begging to sleep tonight."

His mouth went for her neck, and he pushed her mass of curls away, nibbling her throat. Hands wandered down her abdomen, and he stroked her between her legs, still wet from their previous lovemaking. Against her thigh, she felt him harden again. 

She squirmed, moaning at him: "Oh, that's good, Tom, please go on."

He smiled, and flipped her over on her stomach in the bed. Moving between her legs, spreading her out, he lifted her hips up, and aligned his cock with her entrance again. Thrusting inside, he groaned, and she herself made a small gasp as he filled her up, pushing himself in to the hilt in her. His hand snaked around her stomach, flicking his finger at her clit slowly as he pumped into her. 

She clenched her muscles around him, making him give a tortured groan, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear, his chest covering her back: "You are so exquisitely tight, and it feels much too good when you do that. Go on, your tightness make me so close to coming."

Her own breathing shallow and quick, she felt tremors run from her clit and to her inner walls, and his fingers were frigging her deftly. Leaning her head on her arms, she tried to hold her body still, trying to avoid being shoved into the mattress from his every thrust. He was picking up speed, and his hips clashed against her butt with resounding smacks.

"Say my name, Hermione." He growled, his breath hot on her neck. "Say it."

She whimpered in pleasure, it felt so right, his large cock sliding in and out of her, rubbing _ something_, a spot inside her, making her twitch around him.

"Say my name!" he grunted again, hips moving hard against her.

She felt her breath catch, her stomach clench and the fingers rubbing her wet slit _ oh so deliciously_, and then her mind obviously broke down, falling to a horrible but darkly sexy pull. 

She felt herself tumble over the brink, giving him an agonized moan of: "Voldemort, oh please, oh, take me!"

He straightened himself, gripping her hips tightly, almost sure to leave fingerprints, and slammed himself inside her repeatedly, his cock suddenly feeling impossibly larger, and then he groaned and shuddered, thrusting through his own climax.

She collapsed forward on her stomach, and he rolled off her, lying on his side. Still breathing hard, she could see that he was covered in a sheen of sweat. He opened his eyes, smiling lazily, sexily, at her, before saying: "In a few minutes, we'll take a shower. And then I'll take you up against the wall, holding those luscious butt cheeks in my hands as I pump into you."

Her breath caught, and somehow, impossibly, she felt her stomach lurch with need once again.

Xxxx

Curling into him late in the night, back in the bed with her head on his chest, she felt utterly relaxed in her afterglow. It felt good, just lying there, breathing slowly in time with his breath, after their exertions. 

Then he said: "Tell me, little wife of mine. What was the reason behind your time travel?"

Her eyes opened in shock. _ This was one of the things she really didn't want him to know. _

"I don't want to tell you that," she said carefully.

He snorted. "Why do you think I went for this archaic marriage ritual? To get answers from you is one of the reasons. You WILL tell me."

Feeling an acute pressure in her mind, nudging her into _ telling _him, she realized she had to obey him.

Irritated, she told him: "Mainly to get away from you," knowing that it opened up for a whole set of questions. Then she added: "To tell you more might put your vow to protect me to the test."

He mulled that over for a short while, stroking her arm. "Is that why you felt you had to take away my ability to harm you with my magic?"

"Yes. I was afraid you might turn on me."

"I'll just work around that, you know, to break the spell and free myself from the potion. I have no intentions of actually hurting you, but I don't like to be constrained."

She laughed a little, stroking one finger along his chest, lazily drawing circles, saying: "I thought you would do that. Still, it keeps me safe until you break the curse."

He stilled for a moment, and then he said carefully: "I'm not as angry with you as I expected. Normally, I'd be livid if someone cursed me, and revenge would be the first thing on my mind. With this, I don't know, I'm more irritated that you'd go to such extremes. I don't want to punish you like I should, and frankly, it disturbs me."

She looked up, meeting his eyes. Those deep, dark pools drew her in, but she couldn't quite decipher his emotions. Locking her eyes on his chest again, she said equally carefully: "You tricked me too, with your Imperius and demanding my obeisance through the vows. I was initially very angry, but somehow, it was all dampened when the bond settled. Now, I'm more exasperated that _ you'd _ go to such extremes, as you put it, when you already did so much to get me here. I'm not truly angry, though I should be. But I don't like the idea of you lording it over me at all, because _ you _ might order me to do anything."

After a while, he sighed, and said: "It must be a result of the bond, this strange complacency. I can't see any other reason, or else we've both lost our minds."

"Yes," she muttered darkly, not wanting to think about that shocking, red crimson color, turning her whole view of him and their situation upside down.

Then he continued: "You never answered me if we met in the future. Did we?"

"Never," she said. "I was in the same building as you at one point, but we've never met in the future. And I count myself lucky for that. You would have killed me."

"Did you fight my side?"

"Completely. You did very bad things, Tom."

"Which side was winning when you left?"

"Yours. You had just taken the Ministry and Hogwarts, and I was on the run. From your people."

"My people, whom you killed."

"Yes. They deserved it."

He mulled over that, before he conceded: "I guess you wouldn't do that unprovoked. But why aren't you on my side?"

"Because… because any number of things, really. You are evil, a Pure-blood supremacist, you torture, kill and scare, and my life as a Muggle-born witch would be forfeit if you came into power. You would make me a slave, if not worse."

"How did that happen? Why did I go to such lengths?"

"What, do you want me to tell you all I know about you?"

"Yes." His voice was a low rumble in his chest.

She lifted her head, looking at him, saying with disbelief in her voice: "This might destroy everything. One isn't supposed to know this much about one's future."

"I know. You told me yourself that I was never married. You can safely assume that the timeline as you know it is broken. Go on, tell me." His grin was infuriating, but she realized he was right. _ Maybe telling him something would keep him off that path? Maybe it could do something good? _

Sighing, she said: "I know you went to work in a rather dark antiques shop in Knockturn Alley after Hogwarts."

"Borgin and Burkes?"

"That one, exactly. Then you disappeared for years and years, and when you returned, you looked considerably different, probably due to magical experiments. Your first reign of terror was awful, you used scare tactics, unforgivables, blackmail, torture, inferis, killings and mind control. You were defeated in 1981, and then no one heard anything of you for years. You resurfaced in my first year at Hogwarts, and you were resurrected in 1995."

"Resurrected… How was I …_ defeated_?" It was almost like he tasted the word for the first time, rolling "defeated" over his tongue like the very essence of the word was unfamiliar to him.

"By… By love. Blood magic. You killed a family, a father and a mother, and as you were about to kill their little son, your curse backfired. The mother died for her son, giving him the protection of her blood and love." _ She'd be damned if she told him who it was and how well she knew Harry. _

He was quiet for the longest time. Then he said: "None of this is coming to pass now. I've got you. We'll make our way to power in a different way. But," his voice became steely, "I will have power, absolute power, and you will help me, my lovely, little wife. Every step of the way."

Xxxx

The next morning, she yawned as they entered the Great Hall, walking a little gingerly. She certainly felt the after-effects of their night together, and she kept her steps small to avoid wincing. _ He _ was looking both proud and pleased, like a cat licking a bowl of cream, and as the Slytherin boys whistled at them, she felt herself blush. And, people were staring _ . No matter what people had thought before, now EVERYONE, including the teachers, knew that he had had her. And this time, it was true. It was totally embarrassing. _

She slid carefully down on the bench, looking down, while he kept her close to him, kissing her on the cheek.

"Did you sleep well, Mrs. Riddle?" The innuendo in Edmund Rosier's voice was clear, and several of the boys laughed.

Tom smiled indulgently at them, and answered: "Not much sleep, but we did have a very good night, I'd say." The boys sniggered, and she felt irritated at all the stupid testosterone floating around.

Her friends were waving at her, and she wanted to go and sit by them, to escape the humiliation of the leering boys. But even in her embarrassment, she realized that she couldn't leave him like that on their first breakfast as a married couple. 

Instead, she opted to respond nastily in a sickly sweet tone to Edmund: "I enjoyed my night, thank you very much, to the extent that I regret to inform you that you'll probably never achieve something like that with a witch. You see, it takes a man, not a little boy."

Edmund blushed angrily, and Abraxas hooted with laughter, saying with that evil little Malfoy signature smirk: "I think she might be right, Rosier, though I can't for the life of me understand why you showed her your private parts."

"You'd better not think about doing that," Tom said coldly to Edmund and Abraxas, and they both shrunk underneath his glare.

_ Still jealous and possessive, _ she thought with an amused glance at him, _ even for such a stupid joke? _ At one point she'd just have to use that to tease him. She fiddled with her wedding ring, _ his damned Horcrux _ , unaccustomed to the weight of the ring. It felt heavy, and … a little warm, but mostly, it was in her way. So far, she couldn't feel any effects by carrying it, though she wouldn't put it past it to damage her in the long run. Destroying it would be a problem, because of its visibility on her finger. _ Well, there was nothing she could do about that, here at the breakfast table. At least, not until she found the diary too. _

After breakfast, she excused herself to join Mariette and Joanna, and they dragged her quickly outside in the morning sun, the unusually warm, Scottish spring weather making the Hogwarts grounds bearable. Small yellow and blue flowers were making their way through the cracks between the cobblestones in the courtyard.

"Was he a gentleman about it?" Mariette blurted out impatiently, but with a smile on her lips, as Joanna said simultaneously: "Did you enjoy it? Why didn't you come to dinner last night?"

"Yes, and yes, and no, we were … rather busy." she said, smiling a little at both of them. They looked so relieved at her answer, it was almost comical.

"Good," Joanna breathed. "I was worried about him being too, well, you know, to take care of your needs."

She felt herself blush again, saying: "He took care of me, trust me."

The silence became a little awkward, before Joanna squealed at her: "And you're married! It's unbelievable, and such a love too! I'm envious, almost no one get a crimson marriage bond, you know!"

"Oh, that," she said, feeling even more awkward. "I'd rather not talk about that." _ She was sure he was avoiding the subject, just like she was doing herself. She just didn't know what to make of the situation. _

Mariette replied: "I understand. It must be a very private thing, but it IS astounding! You're so lucky."

"Maybe more people had gotten crimson if they were allowed to choose their own spouses," Hermione said resentfully, thinking about the Pure-blood tradition of arranged marriages.

"Maybe, though it's still rare, even outside the traditional marriages. You should be proud and count yourself lucky," Joanna said earnestly.

Feeling uncomfortable about their willingness to talk about the bonding ceremony, she extracted herself from the conversation as soon as she could. She moved slowly across the courtyard to him, _ her husband, _ where he stood tall and proud, hands in his trouser pockets, enjoying the sunlight with his followers. _ And it was unfair_, she thought for the umpteenth time, _ no one should look so good. The sunlight played on his cheekbones, bringing out the dark lustre of his hair, the rays kissing his lips as they parted with a smile as he saw her. Oh, her husband was too much handsome for her peace of mind. _

He held out his hand to her, bringing her into his chest. Nuzzling her hair, he said: "We must get our Sorbonne applications ready this evening."

Xxxx

Late in the evening, he said: "I'd like to show you something. Will you come with me?"

Grabbing her robe, she followed him out in the corridor. He held her hand, Disillusioning them as they walked silently through the corridors, passing the grand doors of the Entrance Hall and out into the grounds. The stars were out, and the spring air was pleasantly warm, but with a chill on the slight breeze. The air smelled heavily of green grass growing, wet dirt and woodsmoke.

As they neared the lake, he said softly: "I've been working on something, and I'm curious if I can extend it to you, too." She looked at him with curiosity that morphed into shock, as he suddenly Levitated them both, flying slowly, almost skating the surface of the lake. She squeezed her eyes shut, horrified, and felt her breath quicken into little whimpers. _ Unsupported flight, how horrible. _His arm came around her, and he chuckled softly: "It was true then, you don't like flying?"

"No," she said plaintively, "I really don't like being up in the air."

"Relax, close your eyes. Lean back on me. It's almost like floating in the water, you are weightless. Like smoke on the wind, we are carried by the breeze. Can you feel it? Can you feel the tendrils of the air holding you up, caressing you? It won't let you go."

His voice was a throaty whisper in her ear, and she sighed by the sensuality in his voice. Trying to feel the air, letting her body relax, at first she could only feel him, a strong, comforting presence wrapped around her body. Then she _ listened _to the wind, and suddenly, it became something almost solid, holding her up, stroking her skin gently.

"There you go," his voice purred at her, and he untangled himself from her, but still holding her hand. Turning around, twisting with the wind, their movements became oddly graceful and formal, like a dance. The new moon shone down on the lake, glittering, as they skimmed the surface in an intricate pattern of steps and turns, moving them close to each other before they almost separated.

As the moon disappeared behind a cloud, he put them down on the shore, and smiled at her.

She responded with one of her own smiles, feeling strangely happy and uplifted by the experience. "Thank you," she whispered. "I enjoyed that. Is it a spell?"

"Yes," he replied. "It takes some time to master, but the very first step is to be comfortable in the air. I'm pleased that I managed to extend the spell to carry you too. Someday, I might even teach you the spell."

Staring up into his eyes, she moved involuntarily closer, raising herself up on her toes to kiss him. His mouth came fiercely down to hers, and she clutched the lapels of his robe, closing her eyes out of sheer want, feeling a deep pulse inside her as his tongue stroked hers.

Xxxx

"The next Hogsmeade weekend, I'll be meeting Hadrian Rookwood at the Three Broomsticks," Mariette said a little smugly at breakfast. She had just gotten a letter by a brown, peckish post owl, that had landed elegantly beside her plate, eagerly awaiting a treat in return. Mariette fed the owl a small bit of bacon, before it took off again.

"Oooh," Joanna said, whistling a little. "Someone likes you!"

Mariette blushed prettily, and her heart was in her smile and her shining eyes. "I think so," she whispered. "And I like him too."

Hermione and Joanna grinned at their friend, but then Hermione saw Sebastian Lestrange looking at Mariette with black rage in his blue eyes, silently snarling. He positively radiated black jealousy.

She instantly felt worried, deciding that she'd keep an eye on his interactions with Mariette. Looking over to Tom, she could see that he had seen the same as her – _ did anything ever slip past his watchful eyes? _ – but he just shrugged at her, obviously not caring much about the situation. She lifted her napkin to wipe her lips, feeling full after finishing her usual buttered piece of toast and her tea.

"You should eat a solid breakfast before we go to Potions," he said to her, "you can't keep up your energy just living on tea and toast. Have some eggs and bacon, for once."

His grin was impudent at the best, and _ she _knew which activities he had in mind when he mentioned her energy level, but farther up the table, girls were whispering: "He's such a considerate husband, urging her to eat to keep up her strength. Oh, isn't he perfect? Taking care of her, and they're so in love…"

She almost snorted, and wondered what those girls would say if they knew he only wanted her to be ready for having sex well into the night, and that he probably wouldn't give a damn about how she fared during the day. But then, inexplicably, her hand grabbed another toast, and moved on to help herself to eggs and bacon. She blinked, watching herself butter the toast, and started to _ eat _all this food. 

Nausea roiled in her stomach, but still she stuffed herself. _ She just hated greasy food in the morning, like bacon, eggs and sausages. _Her brain was first at a loss, but then she realized that he had ordered her to eat – and she had to obey, because of the bond. Anger seethed in her, and she glared at him.

"What?" he said, looking at her. Then he cast a quick "_ Tempus, _" and told her: "Hurry up, we have to go in a few minutes."

And then her mouth became too busy cramming all that revolting food into her mouth, and she couldn't get a word out between the mouthfuls. 

At last he said: "Come on," and offered her his arm.

She grabbed it eagerly, almost sweating, feeling so full, like she was on the brink of vomiting with every step. Swallowing her bile, the cooler air in the Entrance Hall and the blessed lack of food smells made her feel a little better, and she stopped. 

"Don't do that again," she gritted out.

He looked at her, a little surprised. "What did I do?"

"You ordered me to eat all that food, and I had to obey. Now I've eaten far too much, and I feel sick. And I hate bacon and eggs in the morning," she said irritated. "Please be careful with telling me what to do. This was extremely uncomfortable."

He laughed a little, his face incredulous. "Why didn't you say so?"

"Because my body was so busy trying to stuff myself, I couldn't get a word out," she said grumpily, and then another strong wave of nausea hit her, overwhelming her, and she had to run for the girl's bathroom across the Hall.

When she emerged from the bathroom, pale and sweaty a couple of minutes later – _ she didn't want to be late for class, though she could have used some rest – _he was waiting for her just outside. 

He didn't say anything, just stroked her back soothingly. She was appalled at his choice of acting the _ considerate _husband in such a setting, and even more as she heard a gaggle of sixth year girls whisper behind her: "Look at them! I heard her throw up in the bathroom. She might be pregnant! Now, he's comforting her – it's just oh so romantic!"

She shot him a dirty look, and he just gave her a small, wicked grin in return. And suddenly, she wondered if he hadn't set the whole thing up, faking his incredulity to her. After all, they had been eating breakfast together for almost nine months, and he must have realized at some point that she just _ didn't _do bacon and eggs for breakfast. Besides, what was a little discomfort for her to him, when he could use that to polish his façade?

Xxxx

The week flew by, and she was tired every morning, but also curiously happy. Lessons, homework and revising for the N.E.W.T.s kept her busy during the days and evenings, but he kept her up well into the night, though he slept even less himself. 

When she was lying exhausted on their bed, only wanting to close her eyes and sleep after their lovemaking, he went out of their quarters, somewhere, to "practice," as he called it. She had no doubts that he actually did so, and frankly, she wasn't that surprised either. His level of magical power just couldn't be all raw talent and power, it had to be hard work too. Grudgingly, she could respect the fact that he did have a strong work ethic, though she suspected that was the only ethic he actually held himself too.

"Sleep, darling," he said, smoothing a few sweaty strands away from her face. "I'll be back before you know it, and when you wake up, I'll be holding you in my arms."

Smiling gently back at him, she watched him close the door softly behind him. Curling up in their bed, she felt her face split into a ridiculous, stupid grin. Whatever she had imagined before, in her anger and fear, it certainly wasn't _ this. _ Passionate lovemaking, tender caresses and the odd feeling of being _ protected _. 

Realistically speaking, she knew that he was still a bastard on his way to become a Dark Lord, and she was still, somewhere inside, angry with him for all the things he had done. But right now, this week, these precious moments after making love, she was letting those enjoyable feelings overshadow everything, tinting her worldview inexplicably rosy and sweet. Though she knew, it couldn't last. _ This was just a momentary lapse of her judgement. Almost as if she was any normal girl, newly married to a loving husband, having an enormous amount of high quality sex, only wishing for a future of happiness together, raising a family… _

A shiver of ice-cold dread trickled down her spine. _ A family. _ They hadn't used any form of protection! _ She felt like banging her head into the wall. How could she be so stupid? Letting Lord Voldemort fuck her into mindlessness, and not making sure that there wouldn't be any children as a result? _Dear Merlin, she had to go to the Hospital Wing tomorrow morning.

Xxxx

"Are you ready for breakfast?" he asked as she emerged from the bathroom.

"No," she mumbled, feeling her face light up into peony red.

"What, aren't you hungry? I could eat a small mountain of food by myself after last night," he said, giving her a wicked and appraising glance. She felt her stomach lurch in need, but pushed the feeling down as she mumbled: "No, I have to go to the Infirmary."

He came up to her, looking down into her face. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"No." She stared down into the floor, before she mustered enough courage to say it out loud. 

"I'm sorry, I've been a bit stupid the past week. I've completely forgotten to get a Contraceptive Potion, and we've haven't done any spells to prevent anything. I need to get this sorted out, checking if there is anything, and getting the potion if it's still time." 

Mortified, she felt him lift her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "Don't worry," he said calmly. "I don't need you to take any potions." His eyes were curiously impassive, but he watched her with a keen interest.

Eyes fluttering wide open in surprise, she ground out a strangled: "Why? Do you want a child? _ You_, of all people?"

"Why not?" he shrugged. "Everyone needs an heir."

She spluttered: "We're eighteen years old! We have all the time in the world, there's no need to rush this, and I certainly don't want to…"

"Shhh," he said. "I've got my own reasons. But if you think it's too early, we can postpone this a few years. But not much, mind you, even though we _ do _have all the time in the world, as you say.."

Baffled, she shook her head, taking off for the Infirmary with more questions than she had before. _ What was he planning, that involved children, no less? She had to find out. As he obviously expected her to be the mother of said offspring, she had a vested interest in the matter. _

Luckily, the spell Madam Fitchwitch performed on her abdomen showed that she was _ not _ pregnant.

"You're in good health, Mrs. Riddle," Madam Fitchwitch said calmly, but her eyes danced with suppressed mirth. Hermione had the feeling that she wasn't the first witch to visit the Infirmary with such worries, and the school nurse obviously thought this _ stupid _behavior was rather funny. 

"Your wedding was after your last ovulation, so you can expect your period shortly. This vial will give you protection for a month, and you should drink it on the first day when your period starts. I think this is a wise decision, because it wouldn't be a pleasure to sit your N.E.W.T.s with morning sickness."

"Yes," she breathed as a reply, feeling as if she had escaped from a nightmare. _ Dear Merlin, carrying Lord Voldemort's child – a child that in all probability would be a complete sociopath like its father. She had to avoid that. She had to get a grip, this pretense of a stupidly normal honeymoon had to stop. _

Xxxx

As it turned out, he wasn't _ that _ interested in sex as her period started, resulting in him going off for his "practice" earlier in the evening, leaving her with a little more time alone in their room.

"Got to find out how break your curse, you know," he said, winking at her before he closed the door.

She waited for a few minutes in silence, before she approached his trunk in the bedroom. The wards were shimmering like usual, but there was a difference to them – the aura didn't feel threatening anymore. 

Carefully, she reached out her hand, feeling a slight tingle as her hand breached his wards. _ Her hand breached his wards? _ Slowly, she opened his trunk without his wards reacting. _ Did this happen because he had vowed to protect her? Would she now have access to anything he warded? _

As her hand reached the bottom of his trunk, her hand brushed against the inner wards, and the bottom folded out into a secret compartment. 

Her breath caught, and there it was. _ The diary. _ But not only that, the compartment was packed with the Inferi knife, vials of with murky Potions that she'd rather not test the effect of, a curious brass object that looked almost like a compass, a Foe-Glass, a nasty-looking long fork with fiery, writhing stripes, a hand-sized black ball with milky swirls in the blackness, a small statue of a hissing cobra with bejeweled eyes plus lots of sinister-looking books and several scrolls.

This was his own, personal store, she realized, and she withdrew her hand, not knowing what any of the objects could do. _ But now she knew, her access was unlimited. _ Hermione smiled to herself, and as she looked into the standing mirror beside the wardrobe, she was _ shocked _ to see how sinister her own grin was. _ She had access, she had time to plan. Everything was going her way, finally. _

Xxxx

One evening in the library, she looked up from her books to see him watching her. His eyes were curious, like she was an unfathomable, odd _ thing _that he had stumbled across.

"What?" she snapped, a little irritated.

"Nothing," he said. "Just looking at you."

She snorted, and he said glibly: "Can't a man look at his pretty wife for a minute?"

"Right," she said. "You didn't look at me, you _ examined _ me."

He smiled, eyes a little cold. "Maybe I did, at that. Maybe I wondered about you, what it is that makes me not wanting to hurt you, and why my Arithmancy charts go all haywire without you in the equations."

She blinked. "You did an Arithmancy chart on _ me_?"

"Not on you, on me," he said a little irritated. "I routinely run equations on my future and my plans. With you, everything seems to go splendidly. Without you, well, not so good. So, I can't help wondering, what is it about you that will make me succeed? Why are you my game changing factor?"

She stared at him in horror. _ She did NOT want to be the key to his success. _"When did you do this chart?" she said faintly.

"Several times, and the results are only getting stronger. First time I included you was … I think, in the beginning of October."

Hermione felt speechless, though this could obviously explain the way he had pursued her, and why he had gone to such extremes as to force her into marriage. 

Weakly, she said: "I don't want to help you destroy the world." Her voice was faint, but the horror inside was almost overwhelming.

He shrugged, and said: "I don't really care if the world burns, as long as I'm the one to make it burn. But, I will have a world to rule, so I'm not about to destroy everything. And with you on my side, the equations tell me I will have it my way."

Xxxx

The Defense classroom was lit by the scones on the wall, the day outside being grey and overcast, with threatening rain clouds banking in the distance. The desks were shoved aside, and the floor was cleared for dueling.

"I'll pair you up, and you will attempt to hex each other and shield yourself with a variety of the spells we have covered this year. Starting with the obvious pair, Tom and Hermione, you two lovebirds will, of course, partner each other. Our two other lovebirds too, Abraxas and Muriel, and then Edmund and Walburga, Sebastian and Mariette, Marvin and Roona…." 

Merrythought's voice was a little humorous, and she continued to pair off the students in the Defense class. 

Head girl Roona Blotts rolled her eyes dramatically at being partnered by Marvin Crabbe, and there were more sighs from the students as Merrythought moved down the line, not everyone being pleased with their allotted partner.

Tom nudged her, whispering: "Lift that damned curse, or else I can't hex you in class." His face was a little triumphant, like he had just showed her a winning hand of cards. _ Oh, he had obviously thought all along that this was his way out. _She felt the pressure to obey her wedding vow start in her head again, but it was running around in circles, not finding an outlet.

"It isn't that easy," she said in a low voice, voice shaking a little from the building pressure, quickly turning into pain. "I don't know how to lift it, I can't do it. Please retract your command, it hurts."

He furrowed his brow, hissing in her ear: "What do you mean, you don't know how? Did you create a fucking _ permanent _curse?"

"Maybe," she gasped. "I don't know, please, my head feels like bursting!" And it did, her skull pounded like a heavy handed migraine, as if her blood vessels were about to explode.

Looking at her, he said quickly: "You don't have to lift it now." The pressure disappeared immediately, leaving behind a curiously fizzing light in her vision that gradually dimmed, and she gasped in relief. 

Tom raised his hand, calling the teacher's attention. He looked a little angry, and he said to Professor Merrythought as she came up, speaking hurriedly and low: "Professor, I can't hex Hermione. I can't do this. Could you please assign us to different partners?"

Merrythought goggled at them, and then she said: "Of course you can hex her. You can't let your feelings stand in the way of your school work, Tom, however strong they are."

His face suddenly flushed, an unhealthy, furious red staining his cheeks in a way Hermione had never thought she'd see, and he gritted out: "I _ can't_, Professor. It's the vow, it won't let me. I promised to protect her, and **I. can't. hex. her. at. all**."

Merrythought looked surprised, but shook her head, saying: "It's all about intent, you know. If you feel that you can't, you're probably right. But I'll have you know that there are thousands of wizards over the years that have given the exact same vows as you, and many of them unfortunately had no trouble hexing their spouses at all. But Tom, if this is too uncomfortable for you, you can partner with Abraxas, and Hermione, you will partner with Muriel."

There were whispers in the class at that, the most notable words she could hear was "Crimson, crimson bond," but this time, Hermione didn't think he was all that happy playing the perfect gentleman. From the look he gave her, he'd rather have hexed her six ways until Sunday if he had been able to. 

Abraxas blanched a little as Tom turned to him, and Hermione rather agreed. Even his back positively radiated fury. Muriel smiled at her, quipping sarcastically: "Sweet. Though his words belie it, it seems from his expression that he'd have loved to hex you." 

Lowering her voice, she whispered: "At least he can't give Abraxas serious injuries in class. Thanks for interfering by the way, he stopped cursing Abraxas after that … Slug club. Funny, maybe all he needed was a good shag?" One of her eyebrows rose in wicked expression.

Hermione fumbled to give an answer, all that seemed to come out of her mouth was a stupid "Eerrr…", but she was distracted by seeing Sebastian throw curse after hex after jinx at Mariette. 

Her friend's shielding was somewhat lacking, Defense not being her strongest subject, and accordingly, she yelped, gasped, and winced as she was hit by Sebastian's spells.

Muriel's eyes followed her, and the other girl said worriedly: "It seems like your friend is in trouble. And _ he _ looks like he wants to hurt her. What happened between them? I thought they were friends?"

Hermione shook her head, and said worriedly: "Yes, but maybe he wants more than her, even though he's engaged."

"Pity," Muriel sighed. "They should be allowed to choose their partner. Stupid Sacred Twenty-Eight. I'm so glad my family is unconventional, though they aren't all that happy with me for the moment."

Dueling Muriel was more fun than a challenge, but Hermione enjoyed herself, frequently laughing at the girl's snark. A little more than halfway through, though, the lesson ended, because Professor Merrythought had to Levitate a convulsing Abraxas Malfoy to take him to the Infirmary, with a white-faced Muriel hovering by his side.

Tom was practically wringing his hands, pretending to be sorry for letting a curse build up too strong, but she could see from his stance that he felt relaxed. Relaxed and relieved after letting out some steam, and in a good mood after hexing one of his closest followers.

Xxxx

In the bedroom that night, she stopped him before he had the chance to jump her by saying: "Really, Tom, you have to take more care in how you invoke my promise to obey you. One of these days, you're going to kill me for some little detail. And that's not how you keep your vow to protect me."

They faced each other from across the bed, both in the process of undressing.

"It's a bit rich, coming from you, who created a curse lasting into eternity," he said darkly, the desire receding quickly from his eyes, like the ebb of a tide. "You will start researching how to lift it. You created it, you find the solution to get rid of it. And while I'm at it, I forbid you to use your magic against me to hurt me in any way."

"Fine," she said furiously, "and you stop giving me orders in everyday life. It makes my life bloody difficult! I'm sure you want to punish me, whatever you said the other night, but don't kill me by accident just because of a stupid spur of the moment idea that falls into your head."

"You should be punished, rightly so, but I don't even _ want _ to!" he growled, eyes blazing: "Besides, the only option you left me with, is to beat you up like a fucking _ Muggle_."

She snorted derisively, and said: "That's about the only thing that's lacking, among the torture, killings and powerplays, you turning into a wife-beater."

He stalked around the bed, shirt open to his waist, exposing his hard chest, and he said angrily into her face: "I said, I'm not going to hurt you, though I start to see the merits of smacking your arse!" 

Then he's eyes shifted, desire pooling into them again, and he almost purred: "But maybe you'll like that, Hermione. In fact, I could order you to enjoy it. I would like to see you dripping wet for me as I spank your pert, little bottom."

Swallowing, she felt the wetness pooling between her legs. Color flooded her cheeks, as she realized that she just might be a little interested in something like that, even without being ordered to enjoy it. _ And how wrong and freakish was that, thinking about Lord Voldemort spanking her? _

Xxxx

The weather was lovely on the day of the Hogsmeade weekend, and Joanna, Muriel and Hermione enjoyed themselves as they walked to the village with the Slytherin boys. It was still a bit patchy between her and Tom after their quarrel, but in company they pretended to be as usual. 

Inwardly, she cringed with the knowledge that she helped him to keep up his perfect façade. But the feeling of being surrounded by friendly, smart people – even though half of them strictly speaking were his _ followers, _ not really her friends, and the warm sunlight cheered her up, nevertheless. Larks were singing in the sky and flowers were blooming on the edge of the path. _ Yes, it was a good day_, she concluded.

"Let's go past Madam Puddifoot," Joanna grinned. "I want to take a peek at Mariette and Rookwood, to see how they get along."

The rest of them obliged, and peeking in through the window, Joanna giggled as they saw the two of them holding hands across the table, smiling happily at each other. "I knew it," she crowed. "Trust me, he's going to propose to her before this summer is over!"

At her words, Sebastian Lestrange kicked the wall beneath the window, so hard that the two lovebirds on the inside jumped. Mariette smiled and waved at them, and Hermione saw that Sebastian plastered a fake smile on his features in response to Mariette's greeting. As Mariette turned her head back to Rookwood, with a lovable smile blossoming on her face, Sebastian's features slipped into a dark scowl.

Muriel said contentedly, with Abraxas' arm tightly around her shoulder: "I hope he's a nice guy. All I know is that he has a very strong reputation in the Ministry, and my cousin told me that Rookwood Hall has one of the loveliest gardens in Wizarding Britain."

Abraxas snorted, and said playfully: "Better than mine?"

Muriel boxed his chest lightly, and answered: "One of the loveliest, I said! There's probably nothing more impressive than Malfoy Manor. But, with an army of House-elves, there's no wonder. Your family doesn't lift a finger to achieve the result, while I've heard that Madam Rookwood tends the garden herself. Her maiden name was Sprout and her mother was a Longbottom, and those families are often excellent Herbologists. While _ your _family are…", her brows furrowed slightly into a small frown, before she stopped herself.

Abraxas finished the sentence for her: "… excellent practitioners of the Dark Arts." He smiled apologetically at her, obviously trying to appease her sudden worry.

Joanna, Muriel and the boys did their shopping at Honeydukes, and Tom and Hermione went for the bookshop. She so enjoyed the feel of new books, and for once, no one pestered her for spending all her time in Hogsmeade checking out books. He was, of course, sequestered in the dark section, while she researched the Ancient Runes sections thoroughly, browsing at leisure through the Arithmancy and Charms sections afterwards. As their purchases was wrapped up, she asked him: "Did you find anything interesting?"

"I think so," he said, a little preoccupied. "There was a rather interesting scroll on Curse-Breaking, and a few new books on Mind Magic that I'll enjoy."

"Curse-Breaking?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "What kind of curses? Are you going to break mine?"

Suddenly, the mood between them lightened, and he grinned wickedly at her, saying: "It's not for lack of trying, I can tell you that. But no, this is more about breaking curses on dark objects. There was a novel theory on how to approach the Gemino Curse, for an instance. I'd like to test the theory, so maybe this evening at our meeting, you can use the Gemino on an object, while I can see if this theory works. It seems promising, but let's test it in the dungeon. I wouldn't like to clear out hundreds of objects from our apartment."

Later on, all of them sat in the Three Broomsticks nursing Butterbeers, and after a while, Hermione realized that Sebastian wasn't showing up. A twinge of fear shot through her, and she asked Abraxas who was sitting beside her: "Did Sebastian go back to the castle, or is he still out shopping?"

The Malfoy heir turned away from Muriel, who was sitting on his other side, and said with surprise in his voice: "I thought he'd be here. He didn't say anything. Maybe he found something interesting in a shop?" He shrugged, and turned back to Muriel, smoothing her hair before he kissed her. 

She waited for a while, keeping an eye on the door, but her unease grew. _ Would he do something to Mariette and Rookwood? There was something frightening about the expression in his eyes as he looked at them. _

After an hour, she just couldn't take it anymore, and she whispered to Tom: "I have to check on something. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Joanna followed her outside, running after her: "What is it? You're looking worried."

"I am worried," she said, trotting off in the direction of Madam Puddifoot.

"Is it Sebastian?" Joanna asked perceptively. "You're worried about him and Mariette?"

"Yes," she said with a tad of surprise. "Have you noticed as well?"

"I've noticed him being jealous since she turned him down for the Slug Club," the little witch responded with a sigh. "He's not coping well, though he shouldn't be so jealous. After all, he _ is _engaged."

As they came up to Madam Puddifoot, they saw Rookwood alone outside, getting ready to Apparate.

"Excuse me, sir!" Joanna shouted at him, "do you know where Mariette went?"

"Oh, good afternoon, Miss Parkinson," he beamed at them. "Miss Penilworth just left with a friend. They were going to join you at the Hog's Head. I have, unfortunately, been called back to London due to work. Imagine that, a Ministry Official's Patronus speaking its message, a confidential one at that, in the middle of a tea shop! We can't have that kind of security breaches," he tsk'ed.

"Was this friend Sebastian Lestrange?" Joanna said anxiously.

"Yes, indeed." His eyes became colder as he saw Hermione, and he nodded reservedly: "Good day to you, Miss Granger. I _ remember _you from the Slug Club."

Anger flowed through her again, and she wanted to yell: _ It wasn't my fault! I didn't agree to get naked with him in the Potion storage room in the middle of a party! _ Then, she checked herself: _ This might be Mariette's future husband. Don't estrange him. _

So, she smiled politely, saying: "It's Mrs. Riddle. We've gotten married." It felt more than a little uncomfortable saying the name, but she supposed, that was her name now. At least it was better than going about calling herself Mrs. Voldemort. _ That _sounded ridiculous.

His eyebrows rose, and he tried to hide a small smile. "Well, congratulations, Mrs. Riddle. I wish you well in your marriage. The two of you seemed to get along ... nicely." Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to keep up the polite smile.

"Hog's Head, you said?" Joanna inquired, looking curiously at Rookwood.

"Yes, I believe that's what he said. Now, if you will excuse me, ladies, I need to take my leave. Ministry business, you know." And by that, he turned on the spot and Apparated with a sharp crack.

The two girls stared at each other, and Hermione whispered: "But he knew we were going to The Three Broomsticks."

Joanna grabbed her hand, saying: "Hurry! We have to see if everything's alright."

There was no sign of neither Sebastian nor Mariette at the Hog's Head, but as they went outside the scruffy-looking pub, they heard a few muted yelps and scuffling from a copse of trees nearby. Immediately, without thought, she was running, sprinting as fast as she could towards the copse, Joanna lagging behind on her shorter legs.

Heart in her throat, she saw Sebastian, trousers at his knees, pinning down Mariette by her throat, one hand beneath her skirt and in the process of dragging her knickers off. Mariette was struggling wildly underneath him, her face blotched with tears, while her hands were trying to shove him off her.

"_Confringo!" _she cast without thinking, blasting Sebastian off Mariette. Joanna had reached the trees as well, and she fell to her knees by Mariette's side, hugging the crying girl hard, smoothing her hair.

Red rage filled Hermione's vision, and she felt herself crackle with anger. _ Who would do that to a girl? What kind of monster was he? She had thought Sebastian to be one of the nicer Slytherins! _

Sebastian tried to stand up, still sporting an erection at half mast. He lifted his wand at her, hissing: "You don't get to hinder me here, I'll make sure no one gets her but me!"

She Silenced him with a snarl, and there it was, fizzing like lightning in her veins, ready to pluck out of the air for her lips, to make him _ hurt _ for what he tried to do to Mariette _ . _

"_ Crucio," _ she whispered, and a red flash tore out of her wand, hitting Sebastian squarely in his chest, making him crumple, arch, bend, shake, silently weep and scream, and the lightning wouldn't stop, no, it wouldn't, she'd keep it up, it burned her insides, lovely licks of flames in her bloodstream, her magic thundering along with the curse, pulsing, filling her up, making her hair stand on end, feeling as her spine melted into a warm, exquisite flood of lava…

… and Joanna barged into her, yelling "Stop, please, you're killing him, he's almost dead!". 

The stream of dangerous, red light connecting her wand to Sebastian’s body broke, and she blinked, breathlessly. 

She vaguely understood that Joanna had been yelling for some time, and Sebastian was weakly twitching on the ground, eyes closed, blood dripping out of his mouth where he had bitten himself.

Hermione sank down onto the ground, eyes locked at Sebastian. _ What to do, when you had just cursed a school mate into near death? How to salvage something like that? She had no idea, but she knew who did. _

She whispered faintly to Joanna: "Get Tom, please, he'll still be at the Three Broomsticks, please." Joanna took one look at her, and ran off.

Mariette sniffled, looking terrified from Sebastian to Hermione, then closing her eyes while fat tears dripped from her lashes, running down her cheeks, and the girl curled herself into a little ball, rocking slowly back and forth.

The ground was cold and wet beneath Hermione's legs, but the feeling was welcome. It cooled her down from that terrible rage that had scorched her, and she tried to focus on just breathing. _ Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. _

She heard a crack of Apparition in front of her, and opened her eyes. Tom loomed between her and Sebastian, Joanna a tiny figure beside him.

Joanna ran over to Mariette, again holding her protectively, and Tom's brow furrowed. He shot what she thought was a diagnostic spell on Sebastian, and as the spell lit up, Tom exhaled slowly. 

He turned to her, saying calmly: "No serious harm done. He has merely a few broken ribs, a little chunk of his tongue is bitten off, and a few minor internal bleedings in his intestines. And he's passed out. Do you know how long he was under?"

She shook her head. "I have no idea," she replied weakly. Meeting his eyes, she saw that he was secretly amused. He moved towards her, reaching out a hand to help her stand. As she rose, her knees felt so weak that she stumbled into him, and he pulled her into his chest.

Joanna suddenly said, her voice strong in the silence: "Hermione, did you use an Unforgivable? This was the Cruciatus, wasn't it? You know, we have to… I mean, we should report you. This is illegal, though I understand why – I felt like killing him myself… But still…"

Tom cocked his head, looking at the girls clutching each other on the ground. Stroking Hermione's back, he pointed his wand at them, saying: "_ Obliviate." _Their faces went blank, and then he ordered them: "The two of you were on your way back to Hogwarts, but Mariette fell in the woods and Joanna tried to help her up. That's why your clothes are so dirty. Now, off you go." The two girls stood up slowly, moving stiffly towards the path.

Hermione saw them leave, and she swallowed. Her voice thick, she said: "Maybe it's a good thing Mariette won't remember this assault. But Sebastian must keep away from her. You promised me before Christmas that you wouldn't hurt them. You can make Sebastian stay away from her." 

Silently, she wondered: _ This was the third time Joanna and Mariette had been Obliviated in a few weeks: One time by herself, and two times by Tom. She hoped sincerely it wouldn't hurt their minds. _

And a bitter feeling rose in her throat, as she realized that the reason for their frequent exposure to the Memory Charm was because of her. _ Their friendship with her put them in danger of knowing things that they shouldn't. _

Absentmindedly, he said: "I agree. I'll make him stay away. I wouldn't like to lose a good follower on something as stupid as this."

Pointing his wand at Sebastian, he said: "_Rennervate." _Sebastian gasped, looking wildly around him. As he saw Hermione, there was a weak flicker of fear and anger in his eyes, but as he tried to rise, he collapsed back into the ground with a groan.

Tom went over to him, pointing his wand again, and made a hissing noise. _ Parseltongue_, she thought numbly. _ He has spells in Parseltongue too. _

Sebastian shook, curled up into a ball for a few moments, gasping, and then he relaxed, breathing heavily, seemingly healed from his injuries. After a short while, he stood, but bent over quickly, leaning his elbows on his knees, groaning softly. 

"You will not attack Mariette again," Tom said firmly. "Kneel, and promise."

Sebastian sank to his knees, put his hand to his heart, and croaked: "I promise that I won't attack Mariette again, my Lord." But his eyes were stormy as he looked at Hermione.

Xxxx

In the evening, she went down into the dungeons with him again to meet with his followers. As they entered, Tom pulled out his wand, still walking, Transfiguring the chair to the left of his own into a more ornate chair with a higher back than the rest. _ Higher, of course, but for his own chair, _Hermione secretly noted. His chair was still the largest and most ornate.

As Tom called them to order, Sebastian Lestrange said belligerently, pointing at her high-backed, new chair: "Does this mean _ she's _ second in command, now? Is she allowed to mete out punishments on us? She certainly cursed me today, and I'd like to know if she's considered my superior."

The room became deathly quiet, save for a sharp intake of breath by Druella. The silence suddenly felt oppressive, even threatening, and Hermione saw that most of them looked down, while a few shuffled their feet, obviously wanting to be anywhere else but in this room.

"Are you questioning my wife's position?" Tom's voice was low but sharp, like a whip crack. He squeezed her arm, hard, and she could almost feel his anger roll off him.

Sebastian paled, and said: "I was just asking, my Lord."

"She is my second in command," he said quietly. "Don't you ever question her actions again. And you will all, in this room, address her with proper respect. She is your Lady."

She whipped her head, looking at him, almost blinking in shock. _ So now she had ended up as his lieutenant for the early Death Eaters? If that wasn't a twisted version of her future, she'd be damned. And, _ she supposed_, ridiculous as it was, he meant that her title really WAS Lady Voldemort in his mind. Good grief. _She shivered, feeling sick, at the same time, almost wanting to laugh in her disbelief.

Tom continued, twirling his wand threateningly: "It seems that you need to learn your place, Sebastian." 

He slashed his wand at him, and by a purple blast, Sebastian was pulled up in the air, his back arched almost to the point of snapping, his face a silent, screaming mask. 

Tom made him turn around in the air, so that everyone in the room could see the agony on Sebastian's face, and stabbed his wand again, a white light shooting out, making his legs snap and break with a loud crack. 

Sebastian howled out loud, shockingly so, and by a smooth, circular movement of Tom's wand, he was covered in a dark cloud, soon shrieking in terror: "Stop it! Please, don't let it, please, forgive me, don't let it take me, please, don't, no, no, NOOOO!" Tom moved his wand up in a whiplike movement, and Sebastian's body thudded to the floor, twitching, his eyes wide open to an unseen terror.

Hermione watched Tom with dread, seeing the cold sneer on his face as he said to his followers: "Use him as you like. He's your punching ball for tonight. Have fun, my friends."

Antonin Dolohov - _ no surprise at that _ \- Abraxas Malfoy, Edmund Rosier, Druella, Walburga and Cygnus Black, Marvin Crabbe and Edward Goyle wasted no time in pouncing on their friend, firing hexes and curses at Sebastian in a rapid tempo. Some of them were smiling in dark joy, while others seemed to be merely determined to get their spells right.

Even though she herself had cursed Sebastian with an Unforgivable in a moment of red, fiery rage, feeling as he had deserved every second of it, she _winced _as she heard his screams, and she had to look away. _Should she do something? Ask them to stop? Try to force them to stop? She had to do something. And secretly, she was pleased about the fact that she could feel _**something** _at all, even if it was compassion in the face of torture. _

Looking over at Tom, she could see that he stood still with arms crossed over his broad chest, watching the ongoing torture in front of him with a small, cruel smile on his lips. He was every inch the evil Dark Lord he would become. But then he turned his head, locking his eyes to hers, and her breath caught. In his eyes, she could see his strong arousal, clear as the day.


	20. The Best and the Brightest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dementor came slowly closer, and cold sweat broke out on her body. She had failed. Failed utterly and completely. All was lost in the future, there was virtually no chance that Harry and Ron had survived. She had failed in the past, giving in to Lord Voldemort, not managing to kill him after almost ten months. She was a failure. A lost cause. The world was lost because of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for responding to the story with kudos, comments, subscriptions! <3

His breath was slow, sure and relaxed. She knew he was sleeping on his side, turned towards her, one arm stretched out to touch her hip, dark hair falling into his eyes, face buried in the pillow. But she was laying on her back, staring straight into the green canopy of the bed. His semen was slowly trickling its way out of her, and she could feel bruises forming where he had gripped her hips and shoulders, and a slight pulse thudding in her exhausted clit. Shame burned through her. _ How could she? _

_ She had begged him to stop the torture of Sebastian. After a quarter of an hour, he had acknowledged her with a brief flash of his white teeth, an almost-but-not-quite-smile moving across his features, his eyes still hazy with want. He had given his followers the order, and they had desisted. Then, he flung Sebastian into a corner, limp body thudding hard into the wall by a casual flick of his hand. Sebastian didn't even groan anymore as his body rolled to a rest on the floor. _

_ Tom had made them practice countering the Gemino Curse for the reminder of the evening, but it proved so difficult that he was the only one managing the counterspell. Even Hermione herself hadn't quite grasped the reversal of conjured objects from many to one, though she had managed to stem the flow of duplications. She would have to practise the spell more. _

_ In the end, he had Healed Sebastian with a session of incomprehensible hissing and spitting: wandless Parseltongue spells knitting broken bones, repairing torn blood vessels and internal organs, closing open wounds and gashes. Still, Sebastian was out cold, and Abraxas was tasked with returning him to the boys' dorm, watching over him for the remainder of the night. _

_ As they left the deep dungeon, he was still powerfully aroused, she could tell from his shiny eyes and slightly flushed face. His arm snaked around her waist, but quickly it fell to her buttocks, caressing her, squeezing and pinching lightly, before his long fingers snaked underneath her skirt, between her butt cheeks, rubbing her slit slowly from front to back, leaving wet, hot need in their wake. _

_ After their own door was locked behind them, he had jumped her. The mingled horror and shock of the evening had overwhelmed her temporarily, and he had been rough in the face of her quiet, stripping her down quickly by ripping the clothes from her body, throwing her on the bed before he moved above her with a predatory crawl and red glints of fire in his eyes. He had plundered her with his mouth, making her scream his name before fucking her into the mattress: Hard, dominating and oh so intense, her hands held in a vice-like grip above her head. _

_ And that was the core of her shame: She had enjoyed it entirely too much. When his seed burst, filling her core, her back was already arched and her abdomen on fire, her voice sore and hoarse after her second, mind-blowing orgasm. _

_ Blinking as if she still had the ability to cry, she was mortified by her reaction. It was clear as the day: She got off on being dominated by the young Lord Voldemort in bed, after being treated to a full show of his Dark Lord persona. And Merlin, if that wasn't fucked up. _

Tonight, she had known exactly who he was and what he was. She had seen him as the Dark Lord he already was on his way to become, and she couldn't lull herself into a belief of having married a young man called Tom Riddle. Logically, she had known all along that he was Lord Voldemort, hell, she had even moaned his name in bed, not ever being able to let herself forget that particular fact of who he was. But still, it had never been so glaringly, blatantly obvious in-your-face to her, because for the most part, he had kept that thin veneer of the polite, smart Head Boy, the intelligent and knowledgeable young wizard. 

This evening, he had simply not cared to keep his mask up at all. The power-loving sociopath that got off on people's pain had been clearly visible, and _ she had let him fuck her into oblivion to sate both his and her own needs. _

And what's worse, inside she felt the stirring of something strange. Fascination, maybe, by his remarkable powers, his keen intelligence, the odd mix of callousness and his freakishly good imitation of normal, charming behavior, his looks – certainly – and the strange way she felt protected, safe and wanted in the arms of the most evil wizard known to Britain. Whatever this thing was, it made her wary and bitterly ashamed of herself.

Xxxx

Through the night, she had slept badly, tossing and turning. Consequently, she was less-than-chipper at breakfast, feeling quite grumpy and drowning herself in her teacup, ignoring the chatter around her. She very nearly managed to avoid company, saying little and running off as soon as she could for class, not waiting for anyone.

It was a relief to sit quietly in History of Magic, listening to Professor Binns drone on about the upraising of a gang of particularly nasty Merpeople from Loch Ness, causing Muggles to believe there was a sea monster in the lake. The real sea monster had issued a complaint to the Wizengamot, stating that its habitat and daily life was endangered by the antics of the Merpeople, and that enterprising Muggles trying to find the Loch Ness monster could cause a breach on the Statue of Secrecy

Hermione lost herself in scribbling notes, and Binn's familiar voice was very relaxing – very much the same as it had been in his future lesson as a ghost. But she noted that Tom often glanced at her, giving quick scans of her face and posture, trying to make contact. Determinedly, she looked away. _ She was not ready to face her own shame. _

During the break, she hurried out in the courtyard, hoping to gain some minutes of solitude in the sunlight – _ maybe that would cheer her up_. The courtyard was full of chattering students, but she quickly laid claim to a secluded corner with a stunning view over the lake and grounds. The sun played on the still surface of the lake, and the greenery was lush and verdant, fresh from the early morning spring rain. But from across the courtyard, her husband sauntered up to her like he owned the castle. As he reached her side, he slung his arm around her shoulder, and looked intently down at her. 

After a long stretch of silence, she huffed: "What?"

"You seem to be a little off this morning," he said quietly. She only grumbled in answer.

Pulling her closer into his chest, he stated: "You're scared and worried after last night." Face suddenly burning – _ thinking of the way she had moaned underneath him, screaming his name as she came _ – she kept her face down, locking her eyes on the cobblestones in the courtyard.

Continuing, he said shrewdly: "And you're not worried about Sebastian at all. Even though you wanted to stop the torture, you're more concerned about me." 

Her eyes snapped up, staring at his face in shock, her lips parting slightly in surprise. "You know what I am and what I could become. Still, you were thrown by seeing my actions yesterday, and you don't know what to make of it." 

Moving down to whisper in her ear, she shivered as his breath ghosted over her cheek. "You were shocked by the fact that I enjoyed seeing pain," he hissed in her ear, "and your own reaction to me afterwards was equally confusing to you."

He straightened himself, and with a quick flourish of his wand, he presented a black, thorny rose to her, the tips of each petal stained red, like someone had dipped the flower in a pool of fresh blood. 

She swallowed, accepting the flower into her hands. He leaned in again, whispering: "I'm not sorry. This is who I am. But I don't like to see you so conflicted." 

And by that, he turned around quickly, walking away from her across the courtyard. Blinking, she stared at the flower in her hands. _ Why had he done this? _

Xxxx

She was cramming for the N.E.W.T.s, but he was merely reading up at his leisure, and used – in her eyes – valuable study time to slip out for his private practice sessions. One evening in their private quarters, he said casually: "You should come with me".

"Where?" she said preoccupied, her mind deep in her Potions text, her left hand tracing the stirrings of the Dreamless Sleep Potion in the air as she committed the recipe to her memory.

"To practice. You could need a little … extra … before you meet the faculty board from Sorbonne."

She lifted her head, looking at him, a little shocked._ Would he really bring her along for his private practise sessions? _ "What would we do?"

"I can correct your technique," he said, eyebrows arched in anticipation of an outburst. When it didn't come, he continued, voice dropping to a whisper: "And I can teach you to keep in control when you use dark magic. It won't do to lose yourself into the Cruciatus or other curses."

She licked her lips, and nodded slowly. She just couldn't lose herself like she had done two times before while using the Cruciatus, though she was quite sure there was no way performing that particular curse could come up in the test. He held out his hand, and she rose, following his lead. 

As the door closed behind them, he threw the activation spell for their wards effortlessly over his shoulder, not even turning around to see if he hit the right spot. She did, however, and sure enough, the wards flashed blue into activation mode behind them.

Nearing the girls’ bathroom on the second floor, Hermione started to drag her feet. _ No, she didn't want to enter that dratted Chamber with him! _

He pulled her along anyway, and well inside the bathroom, he turned to her. "You know about this, I presume?"

"Yes," she scowled at him. "I don't want to go down there to meet your basilisk. It Petrified me in my second year. I spent quite some time out cold."

His eyebrows rose. "It did? Did I open the Chamber again?"

"In a way, yes. I didn't care much for the experience."

He shook with silent laughter, before he had the nerve to _ ruffle _her hair. "You're with me, now. It won't hurt you, and I won't call it forth."

As they entered the bathroom, he nodded a greeting, saying: "Hello Myrtle. I trust you feel well?"

"Yes, thank you Tom," the ghost simpered, before she said with a sly wink: "You shouldn't really be here, Tom. It _ is _ the girls' bathroom."

He smiled at Myrtle, not breaking his stride, and shot a spell at her: "_Phasma Confringo!" _ Myrtle drooped in her stall, mouth open and head lolling back.

Hermione blinked. She had never known it to be possible to hex a ghost, but Tom said to her: "I know. You just tweak the spell. Very little is impossible if you're willing to test a few things. Myrtle was quite happy to help me experiment." 

He flicked a Notice-me-no on the bathroom itself, and the door slammed shut.

As he hissed at the sink, the pipe line hole emerged slowly as expected, rattling and creaking as it opened. She stalled, not wanting to go down into the chamber, but he pulled her halfway across the room, saying softly: "It won't be dangerous. Come with me."

Seeing her hesitation, he lifted her up in his arms, and sat down on the edge of the hole, swinging his legs around with her in his lap. And then they rushed down the pipe, his feet thudding at the bottom, crunching the small animal bones that littered the floor.

Hermione wanted to whimper in fear, but as a war-grizzled Gryffindor, she swallowed her anxiety, looking coolly around. Turning to him, she said: "So this is the fabled Chamber of Secrets."

"Yes," he said. "It's my birthright. Have you been down here?"

"No," she said, "But some friends of mine were."

"What did they see?" he asked, and she could tell he was doing his best to feign disinterest. _Funny, _she thought, _after_ _all this time,_ _I can actually read him at times, even though he's such an actor._

"Oh, a big chamber, the statue and the basilisk," she said lightly, peering at him through her lashes. He straightened, looking relieved.

"There's more," he replied. "There's a small library in there, with some … useful … and very rare texts. Slytherin apparently took most of the books with him when he left the school, but there are scrolls and tomes left. I believe they are one of a kind, probably the only issues left in the world."

In spite of herself, she felt excited. _ Rare, old books? Sign me on, even though it means wandering the Chamber of Secrets with the Heir of Slytherin! _

He smiled at her excitement, and said sternly: "Practice first, we can enjoy the library later."

She was amazed by the size of the Chamber. The vast, hollow room echoed with their steps, and the stone walls, roof and floor made it into a severe and unforgiving place. She almost felt as if she could hear a whisper in the cold draft: _ Cursed Mudblood, defiling the halls of Slytherin. Impure, unworthy, only fit for slavery and death… _

Shivering, she cast a glance at him, and she saw his lips thinned, before he slashed his wand in the air, hissing something. The whispering stopped abruptly, and somehow, the place felt less threatening.

In the big chamber, he made her send a series of curses and hexes, standing behind her to give her infinitesimal corrections on her wand movements, that proved to be very effective on the strength of her casting.

Then he asked her to shield herself. He smiled slyly at her, and cast a blinding flurry of spells at her. She gasped: _ Had he broken her curse? _But all she could do was to keep her shields up as strong as she could make them, and she tried to extend her perimeter farther out on all sides to avoid any eventual ricocheting or stray strikes. His assault stopped at the very moment she felt her shields crack.

"Very good," he said approvingly. "Your defensive magic is excellent as usual."

She flushed, feeling a deep pleasure at his praise, and – she knew – if _ he _ said it was excellent, then it truly _ was _ so. Simultaneously, anxiety spiked as she asked: "Have you broken my curse, now?" _ If so, she'd be virtually helpless against him. _

"No," he said smugly. "Your curse works on intent, Merrythought was actually spot on, though she had no idea of the way I'm bound by your curse. Tonight, I had no intention of actually harming you, in fact, I was intending to help you. It seems your curse will allow almost anything as long as it is in good faith. You might want to work on that to improve it. If I was convinced I could help you by using the Imperius, it would probably work too, though I guess the curse would bar the Cruciatus and the Killing Curse, no matter what I believed."

She was stunned for a while, before she managed to say: "I had no idea. You're right, I need to research this." Her brain was already in overdrive, and her mind honed in on a question. She blurted it out without thinking it through properly: "If it only allows for good intentions, well, you used any number of really dangerous curses on me right now. How could you be so sure about not wanting to hurt me that you could cast those curses with conviction?"

His jaw worked a little soundlessly, and spots of color bloomed in his cheeks again. Looking away from her with an expression she could only describe as a deep _ embarrassment_, he ground out: "I've told you, several times already. I don't want to hurt you."

She swallowed heavily, suddenly realizing that this might have something to do with why their marriage bond had ended up with that insane, crimson color. _ Did he… did he… love her? Surely not. It had to be only what he said at face value – he didn't want to hurt her. Being the sick, twisted bastard he was, thriving on pain, this must obviously be the extent of his ability to 'love'. _

Feeling relieved by finding the one, possible solution, she changed the subject.

"Thanks for the praise, though. I've always had a knack for defensive magic, no matter what branch or subject” Thoughtfully, she continued; “It might have to do with the fact that I feel an inner need to protect people, House-Elves, Creatures, or even objects." _ Exactly the opposite of him, _she mentally added. 

Smiling a little self-deprecatingly, she continued: "It's silly, really. It's not like everything I've felt the need to protect actually needed my help." _ S.P.E.W. came to mind, as well as other half-baked rescue missions she had engaged in while growing up. _

He had obviously recovered from his bout of awkwardness. Stepping over to her, he gripped her shoulders as he looked down at her.

"That's why I need you, I think," he said slowly. "You see, I excel in attack and destruction. You complement me with your defensive skills and your need to protect everything, anything, anyone. Your curse is a fine example of those skills and your shield work – well, I've also been wearing that scarf you gave me, several times, and it _ works _, Hermione. So well, that I will trust it to shield me in a duel. Together, we'll be invincible. I'll conquer the world, and you'll keep it safe – even from me, perhaps."

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her new-found surety was suddenly lost in the seriousness of his voice and the perceptiveness of his gaze, and her voice almost cracked as she replied: "You may be right. But I don't know if I can keep you from letting the world go up in flames."

He smiled at her, saying lightly: "Oh, maybe you'll be sowing seeds and planting cuttings in the ashes after my fires."

Her mood darkened again, and she said slowly: "I could have done that, once. But as I am now, I'm … I'm not that kind-hearted girl anymore. I've grown harder, more emotionless. I don't care like I used to..."

He pulled her into him stroking her back as he whispered: "I know. That's why you're mine. That's why you're here, along for the ride of fire too. Your cool logic will see what's necessary to save and salvage, without being overly sentimental."

She breathed in the familiar, comforting and still exhilarating smell of him, and nuzzled into his chest. Drawing her head back, she peered up at him and said with a smile that _ almost _ wasn't forced: "And you'll tell me what you're planning?" _ Because, she needed to know. Better to have him tell her like this, like it wasn't THAT important to her. _

But he wasn't fooled, and his mouth quirked as he looked at her. "I might tell you." He stopped for a short while, watching her tense up slightly with suspension, and then he continued with a wicked grin: "When I trust you fully. When I'm completely sure that you're not going to try to kill me, or whatever it is you're planning."

Her eyes opened in shock. _ How did he know? _ But she recovered quickly, and said: "Of course I won't try to kill you. You're my husband." _ Occlumency walls up as high as she could make them, foundations down to the core of her being, he must not spot the lie… And remember to breathe, Hermione! _

"You came back for a reason, and it was to get away from me," he reminded her, his expression serious and stern. "And I'm quite sure you weren’t happy with the way your future was enfolding. Knowing you, well, I'm certain you have something planned."

The darkness in his eyes was almost palatable, and she couldn't look away. He was tense too, and she realized that so much could hinge on her being able to give a satisfying answer. 

Gathering her courage, she told him the truth: "I came back to change the future. Killing you could be one option, but anything that change the future significantly would be enough."

He barked a short laugh, clearly surprised at her honesty. Shaking his head, he said with amusement: "You were never a Slytherin in the future, right? I had my suspicions for a long time, but you have done a very convincing job. Gryffindor, is it?"

She felt an acute flicker of shame at being found out, and said curtly "yes." _ Damn, she had been proud of her acting skills, thinking she'd fooled everyone!_

"I knew it," he crowed. "But you were Sorted anew, right?"

"Yes. And the Hat did place me in Slytherin, and told me in no uncertain terms that I would fit in well." 

Realizing that all this was not a good idea to discuss further, she tried to sidetrack him. "How about showing me that library?"

The library was a chamber through a hidden door to the left of the statue. The door only became visible through him uttering something in Parseltongue, and as they entered, chandeliers lit up the room. 

There was a goodly-sized chamber, shelves in dark wood lining the walls and standing in rows on the floor, scrolls and tomes seeming to occupy about half of the shelves. In the middle of the room, there were one tall, ornate reading desk, like a lectern in the monasteries of the Middle Ages, and one, obviously modern, comfortable wingback chair.

She browsed through the small library, inhaling the lovely, musty smell of ancient parchment, wood and dust. He grabbed a scroll from the desk, and sat down in the chair to read, fixating a small, glowing orb above his head for a better reading light.

Looking at her, he said: "Most of the texts wouldn't be approved for the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. This is all either dark, or it discusses magical theory – something Hogwarts hasn't had on its curriculum since Slytherin himself left the school." 

His voice was bitter, and he added: "But I want to change that. There's no reason why this should be so dangerous. It's hard to improve anything if you actually don't understand why it works."

She nodded, preoccupied in perusing the shelves. Her insides were tingling with excitement: _ An unknown library – could it be better? It was like a treasure hunt! _ She could feel herself grinning like a mad witch as her eyes flew back and forth on the shelves. _ She wanted to read it all. Now. At once. _

Settling with an interesting scroll on charm work, she conjured herself a matching chair to his, and sat down to read. The text explained the magical theory behind how to create warming charms, and she was deeply fascinated, her mind running along, offering up her own theories and questions. Glancing at him, she said: "You create spells."

He raised his head from the tome he was holding, and said cautiously: "Yes."

"And you do it quite often. I've seen you use several spells that you must have created yourself," she stated.

"I do, but I also tweak existing spells to serve my purposes better."

"Those Healing spells in Parseltongue, did you create those?"

"I found a few of them here – this is, after all, the only library with texts _ in _Parseltongue, but I had to invent some." 

His eyes suddenly danced with a cold mirth, and he said: "If you plan on torturing people, it does come in handy to be able to heal them, not to mention Obliviate them effectively, preferably without destroying their minds. This library also has quite a few scrolls on Mind Magic. I like to think I've improved and created quite a few spells on that, too."

"When you create spells, what do you do? How do you do it?"

Clasping his hands together on his stomach, he said patiently: "Trial and failure, until success. I start out with what I want to accomplish, map out the theory that might or might not be behind it, and try to identify necessary components to the spell. It's research, mainly. Why do you ask?"

"Because, when I invented my curse, it was more of a creative process in the beginning, a stroke of inspiration really, and then the trial and testing started."

He nodded, eyes glinting: "Absolutely. The spark, the idea is the first part, and then you do the analysis. It's very … rewarding to make your ideas into reality."

They both smiled at each other, and she couldn't help feeling _ connected _ to him, like they understood one another instinctively on this level.

Xxxx

The Slytherins behaved differently. Everyone had been polite and reasonably pleasant before (with the notable exception of Walburga), but now they deferred to her. She could walk into a room, and suddenly people were standing in attention to her, ushering her to the best seat, asking her if there was anything she'd like to drink or eat, or maybe she'd like a pillow, or should they light a fire to ward of the evening chill or…

She tried to remember: _ Had people done that to Tom before? Why had she never noticed? _It made her uncomfortable in the beginning, but she quickly learned to both expect and enjoy the attention. He was watching her reactions, seeming to be slightly amused by the way she quickly familiarized herself with her new position.

"You will enjoy ruling by my side, you're taking to the role, like you were born to it," he whispered in her ear one evening. The result of that whisper was a night filled with nightmares, of herself standing on a dais in a throne room, ordering bloodletting, killings, wielding dark magic and laughing at the destruction she wreaked. As she woke gasping several times through the night, she clung tightly to him for safety, like _ he _could offer her protection from those fears. He was all too happy to make her mind turn to other things.

Xxxx

The N.E.W.T.s were finally done. The preparations had been exhausting, but she felt like the tests had been easy, almost laughably so. And that worried her immensely, because she was prone to find faults and mistakes in _ all _ her tests. She had to have done something seriously wrong to be so relaxed. _ Maybe she had misunderstood the tasks and written tests? _ By the evening, she had almost passed out by anxiety. _ She had failed. Somewhere, somehow, she had failed spectacularly. There was no way that this was so easy. _ N.E.W.T.s were supposed to be _ difficult_.

He scoffed at her, but as her nerves grew, he just shook his head. "You need to relax," he said firmly, dragging her out of the library where she was researching her perceived mistakes, ushering her into their room. She protested all the way back to their quarters, and well inside, she just couldn't sit still, pacing their rotund living room, around and around, nibbling at her hair. 

She waved her hands, muttering to herself, trying feverishly to remember every word she had written.

He sat on the small green sofa, arms slung over the back, eyes watching her as she circled the room, until he said, exasperatedly: "Calm _ down. _"

Standing up from the couch, he barred her way, and said silkily: "You need a good fuck. Something to take you mind off things, to relax and get some sleep."

"No! I need to find out what I did wrong, where I failed. It can't be that easy!" She pushed at him, trying to move past him.

He looked up into the roof, like he was praying for patience, and then down at her again, his eyes holding her gaze as he said: "Sometimes, it just _ is _ that easy. Did you stop to think," and he grinned wickedly arrogant at her, "that you've had the best study partner Britain could offer you? That maybe you had to challenge yourself in keeping up, and that's the reason why the test became so easy?"

Her mouth worked soundlessly, and then she stubbornly shook her head. "No, there has to be something wro…"

With a growl of impatience, he claimed her mouth, leaning her abruptly backwards in his arms to the point where she was just keeping touch with the floor by the tip of her toes. Her arms flailed, before she grabbed hold of him. His tongue flicked at her, trailing along the seams of her mouth, and she opened up, letting him in to meet her tongue, matching him stroke for stroke. 

His eyes glazed over, and one large hand slid down her back, cupping her butt, squeezing her hard against him. She panted into his mouth, his erection prodding hard against her belly, and tugged at his hair, keeping his lips glued to her own. He growled again, moving his hand down to ball up her skirt, hand moving underneath and between her butt cheeks. His long fingers stroked her center, stoking a fire inside her, and she opened her legs to give him more room to maneuver, and he countered immediately by wriggling his digits underneath her knickers. 

Pushing one long finger up into her, it slid easily in, lubricated by her arousal. _ Oh, she simply ached for him, and he knew exactly how to crook his fingers and find that spot – oh yes. _

"I love the fact that you're so wet and hot for me," he murmured into her ear, tongue licking its way down her throat until she whimpered with need. Wordlessly, he Vanished their clothes, and he turned her around, bending her over the back of the sofa. He pushed until her legs were hanging in the air, before spreading her thighs and entering her roughly. The position was nearly uncomfortable, but somehow, his control over her body gave her a thrill. Steadying herself on her arms, she ground her bottom back at him, making him groan as he pumped into her. He gripped her thighs, and pulled her back onto him to meet his thrusts.

Each time his hips met her arse, a loud slapping sound erupted between their gasps and panting. She clenched her muscles around his cock, and her breath became quicker. _ His hard cock just hit her sweet spot so perfectly, and her mind was swimming in a haze, driven closer and closer to shattering. _ Her pussy quivered on the cusp of her orgasm, when he suddenly brought his hand down to her arse, giving her a hard, resounding smack. _ It burned! But oh so deliciously… _

And she groaned out: "Please…"

"Please what!" he gritted out, giving her another hard slap of his hand on her other cheek.

"Please, oh, please, I'm coming, oh Tom, more…"

He doled out another smack, hips thrusting his cock eagerly into her wet cunt, and leaned forward, whispering in her ear: "Do you enjoy being spanked by me?"

"Yes, oh, more, please…" She was almost gibbering, her pussy almost twitching in anticipation, and he leaned back, giving her a new slap, making her gasp, feeling the wave cresting inside her.

"Your arse is reddening, but I can feel you coming. Will you come for me, Hermione? Will you come for Lord Voldemort?" His voice was hoarse with need, and his thrusts were almost a flurry against her. 

She might have screamed, but it didn't matter. She was lost to the sensation of her orgasm, clenching, burning, her insides pressing and releasing, shaking and moaning, and he drove through her orgasm, shouting out his release as he buried himself deep inside her.

Tom collapsed forward on her back, and they both panted hard in silence for a moment. His cock twitched weakly inside her as aftershocks rolled through her abdomen, and she could feel their sweat from his chest mingling with hers on her back. His arms moved around her, cradling her to him, and he whispered: "I've never, and I mean _ never_, had better sex than with you. This is just… it's mind shattering."

She remained quiet, breath still heaving, shocked and surprised by his revelation.

xxx

The day for the Sorbonne testing had arrived. She had dressed up in her best robe and tamed her hair, because who knew what the French Professors would expect? Hermione had, while on holidays in France, at least observed that the French girls were rather well dressed and groomed. She supposed the professors wouldn't be _ that _ shallow, but still, she wanted to make a good impression – _ no, strike that _ – an excellent impression.

And this time, contrary to the N.E.W.T.s, she could see that Tom also was nervous, though she couldn't for the life of her understand why. If _ he _ wasn't good enough, then no one would be. And with his arrogance, he should be fully aware of just that fact. But still, he looked nervous, almost fretting as they waited outside the Great Hall.

She, on the other hand, wasn't nervous at all. Today, she'd go in there, do her best, and no matter what, she'd get in, because of Sorbonne's silly rule for spouses. _ He _would obviously get in.

There were only five waiting to be tested, and she really didn't know why the rest of them even bothered. His magical powers were running in circles around everyone – they couldn't possibly have any hope to best him.

"I won't hold back," he suddenly said to her. He looked pale, but determined. From the Hall, the din of hundreds of spectators emerged, all gathered to see the public testing and the novelty of the Sorbonne professors. All of Hogwarts were attending, as well as quite a lot of Ministry officials and members from the Wizengamot. "All these years, I've never shown anyone the extent of my capabilities. Now, I will."

She looked at him, eyes serious but heart fluttering in an odd thrill of excitement – _ what would that be like? _– and then she said with a wicked grin: "Please leave the castle standing for another generation, then."

At that, his eyes widened slightly, and then he gripped her arm hard, and replied: "Good luck to you too. I know you will sail through." He continued, looking away from her, almost seemingly embarrassed: "And … it feels good that you have faith in me."

Her breath hitched, but then Dumbledore stepped out, announcing: "They are ready. If you would please enter after me, they will test you in alphabetical order."

She felt goosebumps travel along her spine, quickly gazing at the others. She would be the fourth, after Gryffindor Head Girl Roona Blotts, Ravenclaw Gramen Duximon and another Ravenclaw, Jenellan MacGunnis. Then, Tom would be tested as the last. _ It would be fitting, _ she thought, _ because they really would be saving the best for last. _

Entering the Great Hall, she saw that stands were erected along the walls, filled with students and grown wizards, mostly. The hall was buzzing with voices, and she could see people placing bets, of all things. Today, the roof was spelled to a clear summer day, light, fluffy clouds slowly drifting over the sunlit skies. The stone floor was, for once, pleasantly warm under her feet. On the podium of the Head table, eleven witches and wizards sat. All of them rose to greet the candidates. Hermione felt relieved and oddly happy to see that five of them were female, and a wide grin broke out on her face, catching the interest of the youngest, female professor, who smiled slightly at her enthusiasm.

Hermione had always wondered if it would be possible to tell what subjects her professors taught just from their looks. Sybil Trelawneys airy, glittery form just _ screamed _the stupid pretense of Divination, while Severus Snape's greasy, sallow features was the telltale of slaving over cauldrons in the dark. Galatea Merrythoughts spry, wiry stature and quick wand movements told of countless duels, and the unfortunate Mathilda Barness was the very epitome of a house witch. But with these unknown University professors, she wasn't so sure.

A grey-haired, sharp-eyed man to the very left could very well be a Transfiguration professor, based on his curiously fox-like features, while the young, female Professor seemed coolly logical, and fit Hermione's perception of an Arithmancer, an Astronomer or maybe an Ancient Runes specialist. What she was absolutely certain, was that no one fit _ her _picture of a Dark Arts master. No one had red eyes, a snake-like face – or even dark hair and handsome looks.

An ancient-looking, bald wizard pointed his wand at his throat, magnifying his voice until it boomed from all directions in the Hall. His grey eyes glittered as he looked at the five candidates.

"Welcome, students of Hogwarts. The faculty of Sorbonne greet you. I am Headmaster Henri Roulet, of the Magical Sorbonne. We have come to Britain and Hogwarts today to test your finest youths, with the intention to grant a scholarship in cooperation with the British Ministry of Magic to the one who shows the most potential today. In the spirit of Magical cooperation, we wish to offer the opportunity to the finest magical learning in Europe to one of the five students being tested today."

Hermione realized, he was actually speaking French, but using a Translation spell to make everyone present understand him. Her ears peaked up, as he continued.

"Unbeknownst to you, we have already received your N.E.W.T.s scores, and that is the reason for only the five of you being tested today. Several others were _ not _up to par with our expectations. You have received a number of Outstandings, and as required, in your chosen subjects described in your application form. We will test you in practical appliance, and ask theoretical questions during your test. Will Roona Blotts step forth?"

The Head Girl squared her shoulders, and stepped forward.

"Declare your subjects," Roulet said imperiously.

Roona lifted her head – _ drawing on her Gryffindor courage, Hermione could tell – _and she said, voice firm and clear: 

"I wish to major in Herbology, studying Potions and Charms to support my major."

"Very well," Roulet said, nodding to three of the faculty. Two witches and one wizards rose, and the testing commenced.

It was tough, Roona was asked to identify and explain the care for twenty different cuttings, brew a Healing Potion while showing off her Charms wand work. In the end, they nodded and told the Head girl she was passable.

Hermione felt a small shiver of fear, she rather thought that Roona had done well. Ravenclaw Gramen Duximon screwed up everything from the beginning, obviously experiencing a blackout of some sort, and he was sent off with a shrug from Headmaster Roulet.

"The boy wanting to study Astronomy wasn't all that impressive,” Roulet remarked with a sneer, and the tall, willowy Jenellan McGunnis shivered slightly, as she began her demonstration of her Transfiguration skills. In the end, she was deemed passable too, with a decidedly lack of enthusiasm from Headmaster Roulet.

And now, it was her turn, butterflies twirling in her stomach. Still, she wasn’t nearly as nervous as she had been during her N.E.W.T.s. 

“We would like to know if you can do better than these other students, Hermione Riddle," Roulet said, and Hermione felt his dispassionate gaze on her.

She stood straight as she declared her wish to study Ancient Runes as her major, with Charms and Transfiguration as minors.

Roulet looked at her, and he said slowly: "Ancient Runes and Transfiguration. You would choose wisely if you included Arithmancy in this combination instead of Transfiguration."

"Yes," she said a little bitterly, "but Hogwarts didn't see it fit to teach a girl Arithmancy. I have no papers or documents to prove my skill in the subject, though I know I am able to do well in Arithmancy."

The faculty broke out in whispers, muffling the sound of their discussion, and Hermione could see the young, female professor throw herself into the debate with a surprising ferociousness. 

After a short while, the young professor rose, saying. "We have perused your score card, Hermione Riddle, and we would like to offer you the opportunity to test for Arithmancy too. It is a shame for Britain to not allow witches knowledge of Arithmancy. I will say this to you, as the leading Sorbonne scholar in the subject, that witches can do just as well in Arithmancy as wizards, and that the British should be ashamed for not allowing witches the chance to understand and calculate their future."

She felt like her grin split her face, and nodded happily, turning to beam at Tom. He smiled at her, mouthing: "It will be a walk in the park for you."

A stern, young witch asked her to translate a series of Runes, writing them in glowing, blue letters in the air. She translated _ from _ Runes and _ into _ Runes, using several, different Runic alphabets. The faculty board nodded to each other, and the tasks became more and more difficult. She had no idea of how much time had passed, but had an awkward feeling that they were using more time testing her than they had done to Roona Blotts.

After that, she was asked to Transfigure several objects, and ended the test with Transfiguring herself into Hermione the Hippogriff. _ It was strange, _ she noted, _ why was it so much easier to Transfigure into a magical being, but a non-magical being was all the much harder? _

Hermione the Hippogriff didn't care much about that, though it seemed to occupy Hermione the Human's mind. She stared at the faculty, wondering why they were so rude as to talk about her, not to her. Her glance met a dark-eyed young man, and though his smell was cold, it was also familiar and nice, giving her impressions of nesting and comfort. The man went over to her, bowing deeply, and she decided to bow to him too. He petted her feathered neck with an immensely pleased expression. Then, Hermione the Human did her rushing, odd sound, and she was all gone again.

Hermione reeled on the floor, steadying herself on Tom. Quickly, she tried to stand for herself, and the audience broke out into applause.

Her Charm work was spotless – as she frankly had expected, and she Conjured, Banished, Vanished, Concealed, Warded, Disillusioned, cast fires, altered memories, moved objects, glamoured – all with a certain flourish, as she knew the dark eyes of her strictest critic and strongest supporter was trained on her, wanting and willing her to succeed.

The oral Arithmancy test was a challenge. She was given the factors and goals as blue, glowing letters in the air, and she too had to draw her equations in the air to render them visible for everyone. Though, it was a challenge that she gladly took, and her equations ended up all nice and trim, giving clear results and sound reasoning. 

She flashed a smile to Tom, silently thanking him for his time and effort in teaching her everything the boys' Arithmancy class had covered.

In the end, Headmaster Roulet said: "You are more than passable, Mrs Riddle. We will have no qualms in welcoming you to Magical Sorbonne. Your skills in both Ancient Runes and Charms are impressive, and your Arithmancy level even more, given that you weren't allowed to follow the lessons. You will do very well indeed at Sorbonne."

She felt oddly relieved – _ her magic was good enough, she wouldn't just be the odd, married nuisance in class _ – and then Tom hugged her. Shock permeated her – _ had he lost his mind, cuddling in public? _– but he obviously was serious, whispering congratulations and words of appraisal to her, stroking her, as the thunderous applause shook the walls of the Great Hall.

Then it was his turn. She smiled at him, reassuring him as he strode forward, for all the world confident and strong.

"Please declare your subject," Roulet said, nodding politely at him. Hermione could see all the Hogwarts teachers looking a bit excited, every single one of them hoping that their star pupil would choose their subject, Slughorn almost jumping in his chair. She almost had to hide a smile.

Tom said loud and clear, in a ringing voice: "The Dark Arts." The silence was absolute, shocked and long-lasting. Then the whispers broke out. At the same time, she could feel it – he let up on his Occlumency walls, and power virtually rolled off him.

Her eyes almost glazed over by the sensation, and she could see that many in the audience was affected as well. He stood ramrod straight, in a relaxed dueling stance with legs spread apart, his wand slowly twirling in his right hand.

Roulet blinked slowly once, twice, thrice. His face became serious, and he said slowly: "Young man, we _ always _ask why students want to choose the Dark Arts. Would you care to explain?"

Tom flashed his most charming grin, and nodded. _ She knew he was about to lie his teeth off, but no one would ever see anything amiss. _ She cast a quick glance at Dumbledore, and quickly amended: _ Except herself and Dumbledore. _

The rest of the Hogwarts teachers looked dumbfounded, and the audience of students and Ministry officials alike were clearly shocked. She smirked to herself: _ How would the Ministry explain to the public that they paid for sending one student to Magical Sorbonne, and that the student in question was to study the Dark Arts? That would need some proper spin to get the public eye of the wizarding world to accept the expenses. _

"I would like to explain, Headmaster Roulet," he said in a strong but polite tone. "I believe that to fight the Dark, you need to have a thorough understanding of what you are up against. That means, to truly serve what's good in society, you will need to gain an intimate knowledge about the Dark Arts. I would like to take part in promoting and protecting the greater good for the wizarding world, making the world safe. Also, not all Dark magic is evil, and not all Light magic is good. It all depends on the intent of the caster, and it only makes sense that I'd like to expand my knowledge to improve my abilities."

Roulet nodded, apparently satisfied. "And your other, minor subjects?"

Tom hesitated for a moment – _ she knew it was because he wanted them all – _but said: "Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, Arithmancy and Potions."

The silence stretched, until Roulet said slowly: "I can feel your magic from here, and you certainly are powerful, boy, but you are supposed to choose two."

"If you choose me," Tom said boldly, "I would like to ask for the opportunity to take four."

"Sure of yourself, are you?" Roulet was smiling without mirth, before he suddenly said, tone deadly serious: "In five years, where are you, boy?"

Without blinking, Tom said clearly: "I have been offered the post as a professor in the Dark Arts at Sorbonne."

Roulet snorted, and said: "Arrogant, but we'll see. Your aura seems promising, though. We'll start with Ancient Runes, moving on to finish with the Dark Arts. After all, we need to build up to the real finale, eh?" He caught Tom's eyes, and their gaze locked for a moment, before Tom nodded imperceptibly.

And suddenly it clicked in Hermione's head: _ The Dark Arts Professor from Sorbonne had to be Roulet himself_.

Tom flashed through the Runes, completing the translations in record time, clearly impressing the stern Runes professor. Then he asked to get all the Transfiguration tasks at once, completing two at the time. _ Show off, _Hermione snorted to herself, but the audience was almost jumping up and down in excitement, Ministry officials talking hushed and excitedly behind their hands.

He smashed through the calculations given from the Arithmancy teacher, proving predictions with brilliance. Hermione narrowed her eyes as she could see the two young, female professors in Runes and Arithmancy shared an appraising look. Somehow, she didn't think it was all about his magic, and she felt herself bristle. _ Those witches had absolutely no right to look like that at her husband! _

In Potions, he worked swiftly, brewing the Draught of Living Death in a little more than an hour. 

Meanwhile, the audience chatted in subdued voices, and House-elves flitted around offering sweets and fruit. She sat quietly, watching him at work, and enjoying to finally have a chance to really look at him without any disturbances. He cut, sliced, diced and stirred, all with precise, sure movements. His brow was furrowed in concentration, black eyebrows drawn into a frown as he monitored the Potion, his tall body leaning over the cauldron, one hand grasping the stirring stick. His lips were pursed, and he tapped his chin with one long finger. 

She lost herself into imagining, no, _ remembering_, what those fingers could do to her body, deftly slipping inside her, or rolling her nipples, grasping her hips, or stroking her slit… Among it all, she felt a fierce pride that _ this, _ this incredibly hot young wizard was _ hers. _ And that was _ not _ the right thing to feel for her. Almost as if he had read her mind – _ maybe he had? _\- he lifted his head and gave her a brief smile, before checking on the Draught again.

She tried to remember if she had heard anything about Lord Voldemort brewing in the future, but found that she had no idea. He might, of course, have brewed that awful draught that had led up to Dumbledore's demise. Most certainly, he was very adept, but she thought, perhaps, that Potions wasn't _ that _ close to his heart.

His Draught of Living Death was deemed correct, no small feature in itself, and then Roulet rose from his chair.

"Young man, you show a remarkable grasp in all four subjects. Would you consider a trade with us? I'll allow you to study all four subjects if you agree to drop the Dark Arts. After what you've shown us today, there's really no competition. Congratulations, Tom Riddle, you have won the scholarship. And as we've heard, you'll bring your talented young wife with you. I can tell you," his eyes shifted to Hermione, "we're pleased with this. Two powerful students that are sure to challenge and excel. "

The audience roared with approval, clapping and whistling, and she could see his back straightening even more. But she knew his answer.

"No, I would like to be tested for the Dark Arts." His voice was low, but still it carried in the Great Hall, and the audience stilled.

"Very well," Roulet said, and without warning, he cast a curse at Tom, the flash blindingly strong in the Hall, creating streaks of lightning behind Hermione's eyelids.

A strong shield sprang up around Tom, and she immediately recognized it. _ It was the scarf. Her birthday gift to him, protecting him with a field of strong, defensive magic. He had to be wearing it, hidden on his body._ Tom's counterstrike was a powerful red beam, his wand slashing back at Roulet, before he followed up with a dirty-colored, yellowish surge of light. Suddenly covered in a murky deluge, Roulet coughed, staggering on the dais, emerging with a bluish lightening strike back at Tom, the impact crackling dangerously across the surface of his shield. 

They traded curses for a while, and Roulet smiled. She rather thought, that the old wizard looked comfortable and powerful, standing on the dais as his wand whirred with his rapid movements. Then Tom lobbed an inky blackness at the Hall, the cloud slowly covering everyone.

Hermione suddenly felt, rather than heard, a faint creaking in the floorboards, and she looked down, and then quickly back up. _ There was something wrong. _ The chandelier was swinging from the rafters, roof groaning above her, and then she noted that cracks were appearing in the columns. _What was this? _

The audience was suddenly screaming, some starting to move towards the door as the first rafter thudded down on the floor with a menacing crack. A space between the windows behind the Head dais suddenly erupted, the wall suddenly sporting an emerging crevice, widening quickly as bricks and pieces of masonry started to fall. _ Oh no, Hogwarts was coming down over their heads! _

Panic broke, and people were running for their life as the castle was crumbling beneath their feet. She rushed forward to drag Tom to safety with her, but then she noted that he was standing still, seemingly unaffected. She stopped in her tracks, almost by his side. _ It had to be some sort of illusion, but a powerful one. It seemed so real, both sounds and visuals. The only ones in the Hall that didn't move except for Tom and herself, was unsurprisingly Roulet and Dumbledore. _

With a mighty, jarring crash, the chandelier came down on the floor, smashing through it and falling down into the dungeons below. People yelled, skirting the gaping hole in the floor, but no one, curiously enough, noticed that they were running straight through debris and masonry.

And suddenly, it was over. Everything was quiet, the Great Hall still stood without cracks or fallen rafters. People stopped, panting, gasping, cursing and then suddenly, several started laughing.

And then Roulet clapped. "Well done, Riddle! This was an ingenious piece of Mind Magic, creating a very convincing Mass Illusion. Can I ask you, are you a Legilimens?"

With a nod, Tom confirmed, and she could see some of the teachers gasp.

"Interesting…" Roulet said, a curious glint in his grey eyes. He rattled off a series of questions about Necromancy , a variety of curses and magical theory, and Tom replied, giving lengthy and thorough answers. "One final test," Roulet said calmly. "I would like to see you fight off Dementors."

Hermione realized that this was a meta-test: First, to see if Tom was able to do it, and second, Roulet _ knew _that someone immersed in the Dark Arts would not be able to create a Patronus. 

The board of professors from Sorbonne tensed, and a middle-aged, sour-faced man, the Herbology professor, Apparated quickly, returning almost instantly, face pale, drawn and disgusted, holding on to a silvery, wispy rope, constraining five menacing figures. Staggering off the dais, the man retched silently, and she could see that the Arithmancy professor discreetly handed him a large piece of chocolate, while gently rubbing his back as the Herbology professor's jaws chomped on too large chunks of chocolate.

Roulet slashed his wand at the rope, and then, the black figures floated across the hall towards Tom. 

The Great Hall felt cold, dark and dank, like sunlight had never played across the floor, bright stars had never lit up an evening meal, and no student had ever laughed with friends and comrades. She could feel despair seeping into her. _ There was no point in struggling. She had failed. He would be victorious, killing and torturing their world, and she would never be able to change anything. It was all moot. She might as well kill herself, float into darkness, leaving the fate of the world behind… _Dimly, she was aware that someone was sobbing, pitiful crying sounding as if far away.

Tom stood calmly in the middle of the floor, clutching his pale yew wand, starting an incantation. Hermione hoped that his tweak of the spell from their wedding night held, but then again: _ Would it matter? They'd die anyway. There was no point in anything, anymore. _

He twisted his wand in a complicated movement, freezing one of the Dementors in place, turning it into shards of brittle, black ice that shattered, spreading into a circle of dagger-sharp icicles standing upright in the floor.

Turning to the next one, he stopped it quickly, restraining it from moving further. The Dementor fought his binding, but it was stuck, still giving off its deadly vibes of despair to the people gathered into the hall.

He did the same at the third Dementor, but she could see he was struggling now, wand movements not so precise as usual. The fourth Dementor glided towards him, breath rattling, and she could see shivers racing down his neck and drops of sweat emerging on his face. He forced out the same restraining spell, before turning the three, bound Dementors in the direction of Headmaster Roulet with a wand movement like they were puppets and he the puppeteer, making them advance on the old Headmaster. 

As they closed in on him, Roulet cast a silvery spell, and the wispy rope shot out from his wand, containing the Dementors.

Simultaneously, the fifth Dementor moved at herself. She slumped to the floor, hands on her knees, feeling as if all the joy in the world leaked out of her. The Dementor came slowly closer, and cold sweat broke out on her body. _ She had failed. Failed utterly and completely. All was lost in the future, there was virtually no chance that Harry and Ron had survived. She had failed in the past, giving in to Lord Voldemort, not managing to kill him after almost ten months. She was a failure. A lost cause. The world was lost because of her. _

Her line of vision was narrowing, black spots creeping in from the edges, her sight only a small tunnel of light, and she felt herself falling slowly forwards, as a rotten, skeletal hand reached out, grabbing her shoulder, wrenching her head upwards to its hood as it came down to her.

She heard a snarl, and then suddenly she was lifted off the floor, hanging on to Toms shoulders, and he flashed his wand at the Dementor, _ Vanishing _it, of all things, her hazy mind boggled by the possibility. 

Panting, he clutched her, stroking her back. He whispered faintly: "I won't allow anything to happen to you, trust me. Trust me, love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I admit to a power kink. That's why I wrote this story, lol.


	21. Leaving Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No," he breathed into her hair, "you'll be targeted as my wife, and I need to make sure that you are protected. That no one will be able to kill you or harm you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning for a scene where Tom kind of does his "thing" at the very end of the chapter. I aimed for gruesome, expect graphic violence. Also: this chapter contains a scene of attempted rape.

"Would you dance with me, Mrs. Riddle? You look so lovely tonight." Gramen Duximon smiled at her, bowing politely. His brown hair was slicked back across his head, and his blue eyes appraised her.

Hermione felt Tom shift behind her, clearly irritated, and she smiled a little to herself. Gathering her green silk dress in her left hand, she laid her right lightly on Duximon's arm. "With pleasure," she said and stepped forward.

As he swept her out on the dance floor, she could see Tom's eyes narrow as his brooding glance followed their every movement. This was playing with fire, she knew it, but it was still fun. And she wouldn't let it go too far. Besides, Tom was stunning in his black dress robes, and she had to check herself to be sure she wasn't drooling. She was very much aware that quite a few witches in the room sent him both smoldering looks and whispered innuendos.

"You and your husband were very impressive at the Sorbonne testing," Duximon said. "Unfortunately, I fell ill and couldn't find it in me to complete my test, as you know."

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, glancing up at him beneath her lashes. At the edge of the dance floor, Tom positively glowered at them. How many dances before he snapped? Oh, she wouldn't test him for real, but seeing his irrational jealousy was a thrill. It was another proof of the way he apparently … felt … about her.

It was the graduation feast, the evening of the Sorbonne test, and this was her seventh dance with a fellow student. The Great Hall was decked out in flower arrangements, swarms of fireflies lit up the corners, and the graduating students and their families filled the Hall with bright dress robes, chatter and laughter. Between the tests, the aftermath and getting ready for the ball, there had been absolutely no time to talk about what had happened. But somehow, she felt powerful, strong and excited. And, to her great surprise, she also felt beautiful, caressed by his eyes following her hungrily as she swirled in the arms of prats like Duximon.

"Never mind," Duximon said, eyes smiling almost warmly at her, but she could see a small tick around his left eye, a sign that he didn't take his abysmal performance at the testing lightly. "The two of you deserve to attend Sorbonne. I'm just sad that I didn't get to show my skills to the Ministry officials."

"Oh," she said, and something clicked in her brain. That's why so many had applied, though only five made it to the testing. Her school mates wanted to show themselves off to the Ministry! She had wondered why anyone bothered with the testing, because it had to be so obvious that Tom would be the one to win the scholarship, as he indeed had done.

Duximon's arm twitched a little, and he pulled her closer to him. "As I said," he murmured into her ear, "you look particularly lovely, and you surely are bright. We've wondered all year why you weren't Sorted to Ravenclaw. We would have taken good care of you, I can assure you that. Your husband is indeed a very lucky man." His breath coasted the shell of her ear, and she could swear his lips almost touched her hair. Stiffening, she realized this was skirting a little too close to danger.

"If you don't mind, Duximon, I'll have my wife back now," Tom said icily behind her. The boy froze, but released her quickly, bowing to her again and moving away. Tom's arms came around her, turning her, and he pulled her into him as a slow dance started, one hand splayed possessively at the small of her back. "How do you manage to find all these pathetic excuses for wizards at every single party?" he demanded. "It's like you're a magnet for stupidity."

She snorted. "Thanks for the compliment, husband. They only want to dance, it's called polite behavior. There's nothing to it, and you are unreasonable." Looking up at him – she almost had to crane her neck back when he was this close – she hid her smile as he scowled at her. The hand at her back – his wand hand – twitched, as he grumbled to her: "The last one at least wasn't all that interested in dancing. He was close to groping you."

"You might be right," she conceded, "but he didn't do anything."

"Nevertheless, he's going to regret that." He smiled into her hair, and she felt his magic gather before it released.

"Tom! What did you do?" she said nervously, peering up at him.

"Not much. Let's just say he's going to exit this feast in … three, two, one." He was grinning down at her, eyes flashing with a hint of red as a yell broke out from the buffet table. Everyone turned around, staring in shock at Gramen Duximon who had, inexplicably, pulled down his trousers and urinated on the food. He was frantically trying to cover himself up, holding his trousers up as he ran out of the Great Hall. House-elves popped into the Hall, squeaking, and the Headmaster rushed to the tables, followed by several teachers.

"That was rather childish," she scolded him, but inwardly she was rather relieved that he hadn't done anything worse. She supposed, it was bad enough, but he could have used the Imperius in a much more evil way, making Duximon attack someone in public or showing sexually deviant behaviour, using a curse that would hurt him physically, or destroy his mind, scare him with visions or… And the ease which she came up with possible ways to humiliate and hurt someone, was actually scary. _ Her own vile imagination triggered shivers down her spine. _

"I'm not laughing," he said with a dead serious face. Again, she looked up at him, but there it was, a slight tugging at the corners of his mouth. She shook her head in exasperation, but he continued: "I also thought that this year's graduation class from Hogwarts could use a couple of new scandals to make people forget ours."

_ Ours_, she thought. It most certainly wasn't ‘their’ scandal, he had directed that single handedly to get what he wanted: Their marriage. And then it hit her: _A couple of scandals?_ She stared at him, incredulous.

"You'll see," he whispered, hands caressing her back. Anxiously, she tried to watch her fellow students, but it became harder as he pressed her into his chest. She was nowhere near tall enough to peek over his shoulder. His presence, the familiar and still delicious smell of him, and the steady thump of his heart close to her ear relaxed and soothed her. Mind drifting, she thought about the aftermath of their Sorbonne testing.

_ At first, Headmaster Roulet had shook their hands, congratulating them in person, as the first in line of the Sorbonne teachers. _

_ "Never mind the rules, boy, you'll get your four minor subjects," he had said gruffly, while Tom had thanked him solemnly. "Those three spells you did there with the Dementors, destroying one, forcing three to do your bidding and Vanishing one, that isn't the run of the mill-approach. I'll look forward to teach you." Lifting an eyebrow, he said to Tom: "And, I suppose you know that I haven't taken a Dark Arts student in twenty-one years? My standards are high, but I'm confident you'll make it." _

_ She was sure Tom already knew that, but still he looked pleased to no end. _

_ Turning to Hermione, Roulet said with a smile: "And I suppose you would want to have three minors as well, Mrs. Riddle?" _

_ "Yes, I would love that," she had replied with excitement, and the old Headmaster chuckled. _

_ "I think we can manage that, but we'll need to discuss what you should major in. Our Arithmancy Professor would like to give you a chance, if you're interested. Go and see your new professors, my dear, I'll just have another chat with your husband about our… mutual interest." _

_ She felt incensed at the obvious dismissal – as if she was not important – but she was also excited to talk to her new professors. After a while, the French professors gathered to Apparate out from the Great Hall. She overheard professor Merrythought whispering with an affronted look to professor Kettleburn: "Those stuck-up University professors demanded that Dippet lift the wards on Apparating directly into Hogwarts, because those prudish snobs couldn't be bothered to stay and share a meal with us. Did you know, those social inept braggarts actually said that they'd rather starve than having to eat British food? And we had planned a great feast at the graduation ball tonight!" Her ire was so great, that Hermione almost wanted to laugh, though she felt insulted on behalf of the Hogwarts' House-elves too. _

Her quiet remembrance was suddenly broken by another yell. "Oh, no you don't, you bastards!" Headmaster Dippet shouted, lunging forward behind a column. A Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor boy were clustering around one Ravenclaw girl, fondling her more than propriety would allow, her dress pooling around her waist, baring her chest. Both the boys and the girl blushed furiously at their discovery, and adult witches and wizards who had to be their parents ran towards them. The girl squeaked in fear, as she fell trembling into the arms of her mother, while her father shouted incomprehensibly at the boys, who in turn were scolded by their own parents.

"Poor girl," Hermione said softly, thinking about her own brush with the value of a reputation in the wizarding world during the forties.

"I've never liked her," Tom said dismissively. "Neither did I like those boys."

She almost rolled her eyes at him, and replied: "You can't go around playing God, Tom. Do you think at all about what this means for the future of that girl, those boys?"

"I know what I did, and I did it for a reason," he said. "It'll be better for us. They are of no consequence to me, darling."

In another corner, another shout broke the uneasy mutterings of the party goers, as a strapping young Gryffindor brandished his cock at Abraxas' mother, Imelda Malfoy. Mrs. Malfoy stared icily at the boy, as he shouted "I know you like boys the same age as your son! Look at this, is it big enough for you?" Shocked gasps filled the room, and Hermione rolled her eyes at Tom, just as a fight broke out between two Gryffindors, two Ravenclaws and three burly Hufflepuffs in the middle of the floor, before it turned out into a melee, with several boys entering the fray. Girls stood on the side, screeching and cheering on their Houses.

Tom had plastered his perfect Head Boy expression on his face, looking astounded at the behavior of his former, fellow students. _ It was obviously payback-time for a lot of slights today_, she thought. This graduation ball might just go down in the history books as sporting the most deviant, public behavior of all times in Hogwarts' history. And who would have thought that Lord Voldemort ended his years at Hogwarts by taking petty, childish revenge by destroying people's future reputation – _ oh well, maybe it wasn't that odd_, she conceded.

Xxxx

The ball ended in chaos, Dippet sending all parents home, ordering students to bed. Most students were going home on the train tomorrow, but a few opted to leave with their parents straight away.

Hermione followed Tom to their room. Well inside, he warded the door, casting a Silencing spell, before he threw himself down on the sofa and laughed.

"You just love to destroy things, don't you?" she spat, feeling as she should scold him, though she felt more along the lines of being exasperated by his actions and discomforted by his glee. "I think this was awful. You destroyed the serenity, the happiness and the pride of so many people tonight. Poor Dippet, he's going to get hell from the Board of Governors, don't you know?"

"Yes, yes," he said nonchalantly, "that may be, but the main point was to create a bigger, social scandal than us being found in that storage room at Slughorn's party."

"Why?" she said. "You orchestrated that too, you must have had some thought about how such a thing would be received."

His face became serious, and he looked at her, before saying: "I don't like the fact that I had to tarnish your reputation. You're my consort, and no one should speak ill of you. That's why these people had to act out tonight. Believe me, I didn't put any ideas in their heads. I merely … freed them from their usual, social restraints."

Shaking her head, she scoffed: "You mean this was a service to me? I'd be quite happy with a nice ball, dancing with you and eating food that no one had urinated on."

He rose from the sofa, and pulled her into his arms, saying: "This isn't important, Hermione. It was just a diversion." She could feel him swallow heavily, before he buried his face in her hair.

He whispered to her: "Today, I almost lost you to that Dementor, and it was my fault. You could have protected yourself, but I hadn't taught you the incantation to evoke the spell from our wedding night. I was planning to, but I thought we would have time after Hogwarts. Hermione, I … I… I feel bad about this."

She stilled, shocked to her core. _ Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, had just apologized to her_. She had no idea that he was capable of remorse or feeling sorry. After a while, she said, her voice almost a sigh: "It's ok. You did protect me. I survived. And I suppose neither Roulet nor Dippet would have allowed a Dementor's Kiss in the Great Hall."

He snorted. "Dippet couldn't stop a Dementor even if he knew how, and Roulet? I'm not so sure he would have stopped it, though I'm certain he can. But the thing is, Hermione, this whole test was rather taxing. I was on the verge of not being able to fight the last one. It took all I had. But what if…" his voice dropped to a faint whisper, "... it hadn't been enough?"

"Don't deal in what if," she said firmly. Still, he clung to her, holding her tightly to him, his breath uneven and his heart thudding against her.

"No," he breathed into her hair, "you'll be targeted as my wife, and I need to make sure that you are protected. That no one will be able to kill you or harm you. I don't know what to say, except… I'll do better from now on. And if you ever need me and I'm not around, call me through the wedding ring. I'll be able to find you."

She looked up into his eyes, seeing a haunted, serious expression, worry etching his beautiful features. Was it just his worry that losing her could mean a loss of power in the future, or did it mean something else? Could she really allow herself to even think that him … caring for her… was even possible..?

Swallowing heavily, something broke loose inside her. Hands reaching up, she pulled him down to her in a searing kiss, letting her tongue run along the seams of his lips, tasting him, encouraging him, reassuring him that he was welcome in her arms. He groaned, one hand fisting in her hair, keeping her head still, his natural dominance reasserting itself. But she wrestled back control of the kiss, giving him a hard shove in the chest, pushing him back on the sofa.

He tumbled back in surprise, half lying, half sitting, and she moved after him, straddling his hips.

For a short moment, their eyes met, and she gave him a playful, devilish smile, before pushing him back down. His eyes widened, and she couldn't help thinking that he had never been seduced before. He had always been the seducer, the dominating one – and she'd make sure he enjoyed that the tables had turned.

Licking her lips slowly on purpose, she unbuttoned his shirt slowly, letting her hands trail lightly over his chest and down along his hard, abdominal muscles. He shifted underneath her hips, and a rock-hard bulge pressed upwards into her knickers. She relished the feeling, grinding back at him, rewarding him with a slow, sensuous sigh as wetness and heat pooled in her belly, and his eyes devoured her as his breath hitched. Lifting herself up on all fours, she moved her hands down to his trousers, unbuttoning, before she wandlessly divested him of his underwear. Hands free to stroke him, she grabbed his impressive length from outside his boxers, feeling all those ridges along the shaft and squeezing slightly on the knobby head.

He shuddered, closing his eyes shut, mouth half open as he gasped. His underwear went magically on the floor too, and she removed her hand from his cock. She grinned wickedly as she saw his eyes spring open at the loss of contact, and she licked her lips again, as she slowly removed her own clothes. It seemed like his hands lifted automatically to fondle her nipples, weighing her breasts in his hands, but she scooted backwards, letting her breasts trail along his body.

Hovering above his cock, she let the tip of her tongue dart out, flicking at the drop of precum on his head, and he groaned again, pushing his hips upwards to her mouth. Feeling her insides clench, she met his thrust, letting her tongue roll around his head, licking, sucking lightly, and then she sucked him into her mouth. His eyes almost rolled back in his head, and he made staccato, involuntary thrusts upwards into her mouth. She pinned down his hips with both hands, but took him deep, letting the tip butt at the back of her throat, bobbing her head up and down. He writhed his hips under her hands, making thrusting motions, and she pushed her thighs together, rubbing slowly to appease the fiery, throbbing wetness between her legs.

After a few minutes, she just needed him so badly, and she moved up again, letting her dripping pussy rub against his cock. His slick, precum-covered head moved back and forth over her clit, making a delicious tingle, slowly increasing in strength. Moaning, she steered him inside her, sinking down, lowering herself slowly on his cock. Her eyes flew open to meet his, as his big member filled her up and stretched her walls. Deliberately, she held his gaze as her hands reached up to touch her breasts, her back arching with pleasure. She stroked herself sensuously, rolling her nipples between her fingers, and his eyes devoured her, locked on the movements of her hands.

Moving slowly, she rocked on his cock, clenching her pussy rhythmically around him, and his hand crept forward, fingers rubbing her clit intensely. She moved faster, slamming down on him, feeling the white-hot build-up explode around him, and she twitched, screamed and bucked against him, back arching to get as close to him as possible, to have as much of his cock inside as she could get. He groaned, thrusting a few more times before he shuddered. Panting, she lay on his chest for a short while, and he wrapped his arms around her.

As she rose sometime later, their combined fluids rushed out of her, covering her thighs. His eyes followed the trail his semen made down her legs, and he said huskily, slowly: "I love seeing you covered with my come. You're mine, and this is one of the visible results."

"What are the others?" she quipped, stopping on her way to the bathroom.

He smiled a little, eyes never leaving her thighs, before he said: "Oh, my ring on your finger. And later, my child in your belly. And after that – well, you'll see."

Her breath hitched, a deep ache in her scarred heart started throbbing, as his dark eyes and sensuous smirk slowly traveled up to her blushing face.

Xxxx

He followed her to the Hogwarts train, sending her off to stay three days in London before he joined her. Mariette had invited her to stay at her parents' house while Tom was busy.

"So, what are you going to do all by yourself in Yorkshire?" Mariette asked as they waited for the train.

"Getting the house ready," he said, "hiring servants, making it fit for my lady." He lifted Hermione's hand, kissing it, and she could have sworn that both Joanna and Mariette were close to swooning.

"Oh," Joanna almost whimpered, "That is so sweet, Tom. Hermione is so lucky. Can we come and visit before you leave for France?"

"Sure," he said affably, "We would love that, wouldn't we, Hermione?"

"Errm, yes, of course," she said. To be frank, she was a little astounded that she might be expected to entertain guests in Lord Voldemort's house. She'd never imagined anything like that, not even close. And deep inside, she felt almost certain that she'd fail. Being a hostess on a manor for Pure-bloods in the forties would be an act she was very much unfamiliar with. She literally had no clue at all. _ There had to be a book about it, right? _

The train puffed into the Hogwarts station, and he grabbed her, giving her a long, slow kiss on the platform. Someone wolf-whistled, but she submitted to his kiss, feeling his tongue hard and demanding, but lips soft and delicious at her mouth. And suddenly, she realized that she just might miss him. _ For real. _

She boarded a carriage with Mariette and Joanna, and after a while they were joined by Abraxas and Muriel. "Too much testosterone in the compartment of the Slytherin boys," Muriel laughed. "It was impossible."

The tall, blonde Abraxas smiled at her, saying with fond pride: "You did put them in their place quite thoroughly, I'd say."

"Why don't you sit with the Gryffindors?" Joanna asked, before she suddenly blushed, saying: "Oh no, that sounded horrible. I didn't mean you're not welcome, I was merely curious."

Muriel and Abraxas shared a look, before Muriel said slowly: "It seems I'm not all that welcome with the Gryffindors, or at least, not when Abraxas is with me."

Hermione snorted, thinking that this was no wonder, as this Malfoy heir was just as obnoxious as his future grandson. They all stared strangely at her, and paling slightly, she scrambled her Slytherin act together, and said: "No wonder, is it? When would Gryffindors welcome Slytherins into their arms, especially when it concerns romance?"

"True, there aren't many Gryffindor-Slytherin couples," Muriel said thoughtfully, "but there are some historically. And, those love affairs have been known to be extra strong, mostly resulting in crimson marriage bonds, as the couples have to be very sure about their feelings to dare cross their families and peers." She blushed a little as she talked, eyes deliberately not meeting Abraxas'.

Hermione felt at once uncomfortable, those crimson bonds - she wished that people would stop prattling about that. But come to think of it, Tom and herself were actually a Slytherin-Gryffindor couple.

Abraxas looked at her, his ferret-like face suddenly twitching with curiosity, and Hermione almost groaned on the inside. "Speaking of crimson," he said, "how did that ever happen to you and Tom? I mean, I know the man, and he's really never struck me as a romantic. Quite the opposite, actually."

Both Joanna and Mariette made protesting noises, but Hermione just narrowed her eyes. She realized that Abraxas thought it was safe to ask, as Tom wasn't in the vicinity. "Ask him yourself, if you're that curious," she said a little haughtily, a small smile playing on her face, and eyebrow arched in a conscious imitation of Tom's most arrogant expression.

Abraxas blanched, and said hurriedly: "I didn't mean to pry." Silently, his lips moved in the honorific "my lady," unnoticed by the others as he met her eyes. She merely flashed her teeth at him in an overbearing smile, making him even more nervous. Luckily, he was saved by Joanna.

"So, Muriel, when are the two of you getting married?" the petite girl said with a wide grin.

"Can't say yet," the red-head said casually, but Hermione saw the quick glance passing between her and Abraxas. "But I want to start a career in the Ministry, because I would like to be the first, new female Auror in twenty years. It's unbelievable, but there hasn't been a female Auror since Deputy Head of Office Monna Meridyn started her career in the twenties."

Joanna's eyebrows shot up in her hair, and she said: "Good for you! But is that really compatible being the future lady of Malfoy Manor?" All the girls darted a look at Abraxas, and Hermione wondered as she saw his face set in a grim expression. After all, he wasn't exactly the epitome of progressive thinking, she had heard him spout rather traditionalistic views on women several times.

Muriel's eyes got steely, and she answered: "It must be. Though it won't be a problem for years, as Abraxas' mother is still young."

Abraxas still didn't say anything, and the tension was palpable in the compartment for a while, and Hermione couldn't help thinking that it was foreboding. At last, Muriel said lightly to Mariette: "And what will you do after school?"

Mariette's blue eyes shone, as she said dreamily: "I will stay at home for a while, but I hope to get a job at the Ministry. Nothing fancy, just a desk job. And maybe, hopefully I'll see a certain wizard a little more often now that I'll be in London."

They all smiled fondly at her, her expression a telltale of hopes and dreams, and Joanna said, almost tearing up: "Oh, I'm sure you'll see him. He adores you."

"This would be Mr. Rookwood, right?" Abraxas said, grinning widely. Mariette started, almost jumping in her seat.

Blushing, she said awkwardly: "I was a little forward, maybe. Please don't tell anyone we know, Abraxas." They all knew she meant Sebastian, and Hermione felt fury coiling in her belly at the thought of his attempt to rape this sweet, loving girl, though Mariette wouldn't have any memories of that, due to Oblivation.

Abraxas nodded courteously, and said: "I won't say anything, you have my word as a Malfoy."

Relieved, Mariette smiled at him, and then they were interrupted by the trolley witch.

Xxxx

The chatter had died down, and both Muriel and Abraxas were asleep, Muriel's head lolling on his shoulder. Mariette was reading, and Joanna were doing a crossword puzzle. Hermione looked out of the window, and suddenly, she became aware of a whispering sound. She realized, the sound had been there for a while, but it was becoming gradually clearer. Resting her head against the window, she tried to make some sense out of the whispering, but it was no use. As she almost were falling asleep herself, the whispering morphed into distinct words.

_I've got you, you're safe, protected, I will make sure you are happy, darling, you'll never lack for anything, I'll give you the world… _

Snapping awake, she couldn't understand what it was. _But it almost sounded like Tom's voice, but how?_

Then she understood. It had to be the Horcrux, her wedding ring. Baffled, she stared at the heavy, golden ring. It had seemed almost like any other ring while they were at Hogwarts. Did it talk to her now because of the physical distance between Tom and her, or had he bespelled it to do so, or…?

She gazed at it for a long time, but could not find any solutions, though the whispering continued, though only as a vague noise while she remained awake. 

Xxxx

Her bedroom was next to Mariette's, and she enjoyed stretching out in the comfortable, big bed, between the cool sheets. They had said a tearful goodbye to Joanna, who'd be leaving for her family home in Norfolk for the summer, preparing for her wedding. Both Muriel and Abraxas were to stay in the Malfoy town house, staying well away from both the elder Weasleys and the Malfoys.

Mariette's parents had greeted her warmly. Her mother, a tall, beautiful blonde witch looking so much like Mariette, had hugged her as she stood on the doorstep of the Penilworth's house in Islington, London, welcoming her inside the house. Mariette's father was a short, stocky wizard with a firm handshake, and his warm brown eyes made her feel comfortable at once.

"We're so happy to have you here, Mrs. Riddle," he had said, "because we've heard so much about you from Mariette. And congratulations to you and your husband for making it to Sorbonne! It's wonderful, and I really believe Mariette's grades have taken a turn for the better since you arrived at Hogwarts."

Their house was comfortable, and Hermione supposed this was a standard, lower Middle class wizarding home. Rooms were not large, but cozy, there were carpets on the floors, the furniture was a mix of what had to be passed down through the family and newer things, and there were a few heirlooms and magical objects at display. Two portraits of distant relatives chatted quietly with each other, staring down at the supper table, being the only two portraits in the house.

They had eaten a hearty supper, and now, in her room, she was drowsy and feeling full. It was enjoyable just to lie down, relaxing, listening to the comforting whispers of Tom's voice through the Horcrux…

… and then she was woken a little later by an unearthly wail. Bolting out of the bed, wand automatically in hand, her mind calling forth banshees and other terrors, she felt disoriented, heart hammering in her chest. Breathing hard, she almost jumped as the wail came once again, and then she caught on. She was in London, in Mariette's house, and those screams had to be from Mariette, as they came from the room next to hers. Was Mariette attacked by something?

Wand in hand, she sprinted out in the corridor, and entered Mariette's room. The girl sat in her bed, dressed in her white nightdress, eyes shut and tears running down her face, whimpering and shaking. The moon shone through a crack in the curtains, making the terrified expression on Mariette's face visible.

Hermione stopped. _ A nightmare, it had to be a nightmare_. Walking to the bed, she tried to calm herself as she sat down beside the girl. "Hey, Mariette, it's ok, it's just a dream," she whispered, stroking her hand. "You can wake up now, it isn't real. I'm here, everything is fine."

With a shuddering breath, Mariette opened her eyes, looking at her. She threw herself around Hermione's neck, great sobs wracking her body.

"It's my nightmare again, I can't remember, but I'm so scared! Hermione, it's awful, and it's every night. I can't take it anymore," she cried.

Hermione's nightdress became wet with tear stains, but she stroked Mariette's back soothingly.

"Hush," she crooned, "it'll be alright."

"No," Mariette whimpered, "it won't. I've had awful nightmares that I can't remember, every single night for over a month, now. And I still can't remember! You wouldn't know since you moved out of the dorm with Tom, but Joanna and Walburga had to put up Silencing wards around my bed to get some sleep. And I'm sorry, Hermione," she sniffled, "but I forgot to ward my room tonight."

"This started a month ago?" Hermione asked carefully.

"Yes, just after the last Hogsmeade weekend," Mariette said.

_ Damn_, Hermione thought. This had to be subconscious memories of Sebastian trying to rape her. _ That bastard_! 

Snarling in her mind, she decided he had deserved the additional torture from his fellow Knights, not just her own Cruciatus, and damn it if she wasn't feeling up for giving him another round of the Cruciatus too. 

But none of that would help Mariette now. Hermione felt helpless and angry at Sebastian, not really sure how she could help her friend. But in the end, she just lay down beside Mariette on her bed, holding her hand as they both fell asleep.

Xxxx

The stay with Mariette was fun, pleasant and comfortable, and the two girls relaxed, took trips to Diagon Alley and even Muggle London. The war was over, and the Muggles were celebrating and rebuilding, but it was obvious that the devastation left by the bombs would still take a long time to clear up. People still looked haggard, clothes threadbare and mended, and the shops still lacked goods and food was still on ration. Suddenly, Hermione realized just how protected the wizarding world had been. With an abundance of food, wards against stray bombs, life had gone on just like usual, like there was no Muggle World War at all.

But, she had to admit to herself that she missed Tom. She missed him, she really did. Talking to him, touching him, just having him around – him not being there felt like a hole inside her, as if something was missing. She realized she had seen him close to every single day since the start of the school year. In that period of time, she had gone from fear, hatred and loathing to _ this_, whatever it was she was feeling. She suspected there was a word for it, but she wasn't about to acknowledge that. Maybe, just maybe, she could feel comfortable with using the word "care" to herself.

Moreover, her whole situation with the marriage meant that she had failed, spectacularly so. She could still change the future, but her vow to herself of not ending up as his conquest was rendered to ashes by him forcing her into marriage, and her accepting it and developing feelings for him. 

Hermione couldn't help wonder what Harry and Ron would have said, but then again, she also felt that whatever they would have said or done, she wouldn't have cared that much. The Hermione that had lived in the nineties would have been devastated by their reactions, but not the version of herself living in the forties. After all, her emotions tied to her life in the future were, pretty much, dead or subdued.

Fiddling with her Time-turner, she wondered how on earth it was possible for her to create something that Dumbledore would liken to a Horcrux, and then getting married to Voldemort, while planning to stop his ascent. It almost seemed like a sick joke of fate, but maybe she needed that kind of callousness the Time-Turner spell had given her to go through with changing the future.

When Tom finally arrived, Apparating outside before knocking politely on the door, she threw her arms around him, feeling a sincere joy. "I've missed you," she whispered to him. He hugged her tightly, kissing her hair, and as they broke apart, his face was a little flushed and his eyes sparkled with something that made her tingle inside.

He greeted Mariette's parents politely, turning his charm on full tilt. "Thank you for taking such good care of my wife," he said, expression open, friendly and wholesome-looking. Hermione still had no idea how he managed such shifts, it was almost like he was another person altogether. 

After a pleasant supper, they played cards with Mariette and her parents for a while before retiring, and she could tell, Mariette's parents just loved him. She supposed, that if he had asked them to swear fealty to him now, they'd have done so without hesitating, without asking what they were getting into.

As they closed the door of their bedroom, he warded it, before turning to her with a mischievous smile. "And I've missed you too," he said predatorily. She could almost feel her belly twitch in anticipation, as he lunged for her, crushing her to him. "Those naive people, they'll have no idea that I'll take you hard against all surfaces of their guest room," he said, eyeing her greedily. She looked at the room, the bed, the dresser, two chairs, the wall – and she couldn't help giving him a wicked grin.

"Please do," she said huskily, and his mouth crashed brutally down on hers.

Xxxx

The next day, they shrunk their things and said their goodbyes to the Penilworths. Outside the house, he put his arms around her waist, Apparating them to their first stop, Diagon Alley.

After scouring Flourish and Blotts and then stocking up on Potion ingredients, they rested in the shade of a parasol outside Florean Fortescue, eating chocolate sundaes and drinking coffee. The weather was warm, and the sunlight played on the cobblestones and the tiled roofs, making Diagon Alley look welcoming, bright and cheery.

"Just like the first time I met you," he said, shooting a glance at her.

"Merlin!" she exclaimed, before laughing a little. "You made me so nervous."

"I did?" She could tell he was pleased by his voice only, there was no need to look at him.

"Yes. I never imagined you would come on to me, and I really didn't know what to make of that. And I was half expecting you to torture or kill me."

She watched with fascination as his face was transformed by laughing, and he took her hand – much like he did the first time, caressing her – and he said: "I was only planning to fuck you and read your mind, I was much to intrigued to even think about killing you. And, with all your O.W.L.s and your impressive N.E.W.T. plans, I was curious if you could turn out to be an asset to me."

Snorting with laughter, she shook her head. "The ice-cream was good, though."

They sat in silence for a while, before she asked: "What did you do with the house?"

"Oh," he replied, "I hired servants to clean it and prepare the rooms, and I did some magical alterations to it. Basically, turning it into a wizarding home instead of a Muggle house."

"How do you manage that?" Her curiosity was picked, and his eyes gleamed with the possibility of a magical discussion.

"I created an awareness in the house and on the property."

"An awareness? Do you mean the house is sentient?"

"No, not really," he said, "but close enough. The house will recognize us, it will ward itself, it can tell us if repairs are needed, who's trespassing on the property and such, and it will also be malleable as to which rooms are visible to whom and so on. I'm not creating another Hogwarts here – yet – as moving staircases are not really my cup of tea. I prefer a more permanent structure, but with mind-inducing properties instead of actually shifting rooms and stairs."

"You say recognize us," she said slowly. "Does that mean that you've added me to the wards?"

He arched his eyebrows at that, and said: "But of course. You will be the lady of the manor. That means the house will take orders from you too."

She pondered that, as she finished her ice-cream. _ Lady of the manor. Was it really a manor, and now a magical one at that? What did that really entail? _

Curious, she asked: "Isn't this kind of magic blood-related? Don't you need my blood to add me to the awareness of the house?"

"Yes," he replied, "to seal the enchantment. But everything is prepared, so when we arrive later today, you just need to slit your wrist in an offering to the house and the property."

At that she spluttered, choking on her coffee. _ Slit her wrist in Lord Voldemort's presence – what a preposterous idea! _

Coughing, she muttered sourly: "How much?"

"About a liter," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"A liter? That's a lot," she grumbled, thinking that she'd be dizzy and uncomfortable, _ and what could someone like him do with her blood anyway _? She'd better be careful that all went to the house, and that he wouldn't sneak off with droplets of her blood.

"It's a big house," he said, unconcernedly.

She changed the subject, knowing that he wouldn't give anything more, asking: "Servants? Can we really afford that?" a worried crease emerging between her eyes.

He looked away from her, as if he had an internal battle. Then he turned to her, smile flashing with sinful charm, and said: "Don't worry, I've taken care of that."

She stared at him for a while, suspiciously. They didn't have all that much money, but she didn't know how much he had inherited from his Muggle father. It could be enough, but then again, she wasn't sure. _ Maybe he had done something to the servants? It would be just like him_. Well, she didn't know, but she'd find out soon enough.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Ravenclaw Gramen Duximon pass by, pointing at them and muttering to someone who had to be his big brother by the striking similarity of the two. They both scowled at them, staring as Gramen muttered into his brother's ear. She supposed, she had to get used to that, being Lord Voldemort’s wife. After all, he had cursed the boy in a rather humiliating way at the graduation feast.

"You told me of me working in Borgin and Burkes," he murmured as they left the ice-cream parlor. "I'd like to have a look inside, to see what I could be doing. I've been there before, of course, but not ever thinking about getting a job in there."

"Ok," she said, "but I hope you don't mind me waiting outside. The place has always given me the creeps."

"Of course not, and I won't be long," he said, steering them down into the narrow, dark Knockturn Alley. He went inside, and she stood outside in the shade, following the movement of the warm, dusty rays of sunlight on the rooftops of the dingy, derelict wooden houses clustered around the street.

Idly, she wondered what he would think. He had, definitively, worked there for quite a few years in her own timeline, scavenging objects of power, but now it seemed like that didn't matter all that much to him. The street was quiet in the warm afternoon, and the only thing she heard was the buzzing of a fly nearby and the faint din of talking people from Diagon Alley.

**CRACK!**

She felt a sharp, stinging, sickening pain in the back of her head, and her knees buckled automatically. Her arms flew out to her side to balance herself, and she had a Protego ready in a second, but her arms were grabbed harshly by both sides, and her wand was wrenched out of her hand as she was dragged into a tiny alley between the houses.

It all happened in seconds, and she felt dizzy, nauseous and disoriented. Her head was thrown backwards as a strong hand clamped down on her jaw, and she stared up into the angry eyes of Gramen Duximon. Twisting her head, she could see that his older brother held her other arm in a strong, bruising grip.

"What do you want?" she gasped, her head ringing from the blow she had been dealt.

"You slut," Duximon hissed. "Getting into Sorbonne by spreading your legs, fucking your way in with that insane husband of yours, and he had the fucking nerve to curse me into literally taking a piss at the feast! You two dirty Half-bloods deserve to know what it means to mess with a Pure-Blood! I'll teach you respect for your betters. We'll see if your husband won't lose that smug look of his, when he realizes that his precious wife has been thoroughly used like the whore you are."

He ripped off her shirt, exposing her chest, and his brother leered: "That's a handful, Gramen. Did you fuck her in school?"

"No," Duximon panted, looking at her as he stroked himself outside his pants, "she was all over that husband of hers, even before they were married. He fucked her in every way imaginable, in public too."

"An exhibitionist, such a little whore, we're going to love this," his brother sighed, groping her breasts as he licked his lips.

Hermione struggled, trying to summon up her magic to do a wandless spell despite her distress and bodily pain, but the older Duximon simply smirked, casting a full Body-Bind. Arms out, spread-eagled between their hands, she could only glare at them, her mouth not working. Gramen smirked, and dropped his pants, waving his wand to remove her knickers.

_ Merlin, this happens too fast, what can I do_? she thought, mind working feverishly, panicky. She wanted to yell, exerting herself to do wordless and wandless magic to no avail – being to stressed out to make it work.

_ This can’t happen again - no, she was almost helpless, like she had been when Dolohov had attacked her in the future, but this time, there was no Ginny with a Killing Curse to save her… But there was someone else! _ Pouring her fear into the wedding ring, the Horcrux, she sent out an anguished and desperate cry: _ Tom, help me_! 

Gramen Duximon moved in between her legs, fondling himself as he lined up to her entrance. _ No_, she thought, _ no, this can't be_! The boy took a death grip on her throat, she almost couldn't breathe.

"You're a slut, Granger," the older brother spat. "Everyone knows that. I think you'll enjoy being fucked against the wall, or maybe you'll like to be sandwiched between my brother and me. I'll do your tight arse, and my brother will do the honors by your cunt."

Another **Crack! **in the alley made her almost whimper in relief. Tom stalked towards the two men holding her, his eyes were all red, his fury washing over them with a rush of his magic.

Duximon took one look at him, and scrambled back, but he was yanked away from her, like there was a hook connected to his neck, and his brother were brought up short too. She fell down on the cobblestones, the Body-Bind suddenly lifted, and hit her back hard against the surface. _ Ouch! _ she thought, still feeling nauseous, rising slowly up into a sitting position to watch what happened.

For the rest of her life, she regretted taking a look. There was no warning of spells uttered out loud: all of it was done wordlessly. Gramen Duximon’s brother was literally squeezed out of his skin, slowly and painfully, a reddish, skin-less thing screaming its way out, like a snake shedding its skin. She noted, oddly detached, that Silencing spells and Notice-me-not-charms were firmly in place around the alley.

Tom gazed upon the oozing figure with a dark glee, and as the man popped from his skin, Tom smiled. The trembling, panting wreck of a human writhing on the street quickly lost his interest, though, and he turned to Gramen Duximon with a wicked grin.

"What do you think should be the punishment for attacking my wife?" he asked silkily, eyes burning with a mix of terrible anger and that evil joy of causing pain and suffering. "Death? Oh, yes, I'll give you death, but it will take time."

Suddenly, blood dripped from each pore as well as the ears and eyes of Duximon, and his garbled yell was drowned as blood gushed out of his mouth too. A complicated wand movement on Tom's part was immediately followed by a strong squelch, like the man's intestines were squeezed until they popped. A foul stench emerged, like a rotten midden heap. 

Then Tom calmly and slowly proceeded by ripping the two attackers limb from limb while still keeping them alive, starting with fingers and toes, before moving on to larger extremities, all the while orchestrating each rip and tear with his wand like he was conducting a symphony. The whole alley rapidly became covered in blood and gory splatters, and Hermione felt queasy, shying away from globs of blood and meat landing too close for comfort. _ This was what the Death Eater business was all about. Death by torture. Pain. The revel in darkness and horror. The pure, sickening evil. _

With tears running down her face due to the pain from her back and head, she turned retching away from her rescuer, her husband and lover. She felt violated by the attack she had experienced, but also disgusted by his brutal retaliation and her own detachment. Her reaction of disgust was more due to the very nauseating effect of the sight, than how the gruesome torture occuring in front of her affected the victims. 

She couldn't feel it in her to be sorry for the Duximon brothers, though she knew this was wrong - _ oh so wrong_. But as the last limb was torn off, she heard something that made her freeze. A high, cold, chilling laughter, very different from those deep, rich chuckles that made her body tingle.

Turning around at him, she had never seen him so angry, so thrilled, so high. His eyes were glinting red in the setting sun as he whispered to himself: "If only there was a way of killing them over and over…"

But swiftly and abruptly, he was all business: Vanishing the corpses, Scourgifying the mess from the street and lifting the Silencing and Notice-me-not-charms, before embracing her tight. "Shhh," he soothed her, "you're safe now. I'll keep you safe. No one will ever hurt you again. You're mine, I'll take care of you, I'll kill for you and defend you. Forever."

Her tear streaked face lifted to look at him, and he kissed her gently, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. Kissing her forehead, he murmured: "Don't cry, love. They're not worth it. You can always alert me by the ring like you did now. Don't be afraid, love. I'll always protect you. I won't – can't – let anyone hurt you, love. You're mine, and I'll keep you safe. They can't hurt you anymore, darling, my sweet, my little wife."

She blinked through her tears. _ Love? Darling? Had he really fallen in love with her _? This monster that just had destroyed two humans, albeit despicable ones – deserving death, but maybe not in such a fashion – destroying them in the worst ways imaginable, could he also be in love? He crushed her into his chest, and she stayed there, needing him, needing the safety of his embrace, needing the monster that he was, as her thoughts churned and her shivering slowly subsided.


	22. Lady of the Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her troubled, conflicted thoughts were interrupted by a deep, rattling breath, and those dark, bottomless eyes opened, looking at her face.
> 
> "Crucio," he whispered faintly, and her face fell in shock. Nothing happened, though, and he laughed briefly, mirthlessly, before coughing violently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ritual sex and a hard choice coming up.

"Aaaaaah!" Her screams tore hoarsely into the night, followed by a gut-wrenching sob. Night was falling over Riddle House, and she was leaning across the back of a chair, supporting her weight, her head hanging down between her arms.

Panting, she turned her head, growling at him: "Do you call this _ healing? _ I'd say it's torture!"

He shrugged, but his hands were hovering over her back, almost touching, almost supporting her. "The reason I made the spell was as a thing of necessity. I never expected to use this on someone like… someone like _ you _."

His hissing and spitting Parseltongue Healing spell had burned through her, leaving fiery pain behind for minutes before her head cleared. Raising her head slowly, carefully, she noted that her head and her back felt much better than before, the pains trickling slowly out into nothing. 

The hit she had taken from the Duximon brothers had given her a severe concussion, and her back had been badly hurt by falling on the cobblestones. Tom had Apparated them back to Riddle House, and set about Healing her first thing.

Now, as she came to her senses, she saw that she was in a large, rather opulent drawing room. There was a large mantel on an inner wall, French windows looking out on a terrace with heavy, wine-colored drapings, a polished oaken floor with scattered Persian rugs, and a plush, green set of chairs and a sofa.

Tom spread his hands, saying with a small smile: "You look better, at least." Seeing her eyes flitting around the room, he said: "I changed the colors on the sofa. It was all red and gold, the whole room screaming Gryffindor. I kept the drapes for you, though."

Looking at him, she gathered that he was, of all things, _ nervous _ . She found that a little curious. _ Why would he be? Was he worried that the house might not be to her liking? _

Slowly, she said to him: "I think it looks lovely. And this house – it seems like a rather grand house."

A relieved expression flitted quickly over his face, and he replied: "I didn't really know what you'd expect, or what you're used to from the future."

Smiling softly at him, she said: "I wasn't born in a manor, but not in squalor either. And this … seems to be on quite a scale."

"The house is better than the economy, though," he said casually. "It proved to be quite a façade, with parts of the house in disrepair, furniture sold off and almost no money to run the property. I spent last summer making some magical repairs to ensure that the east wing wouldn’t fall apart, and I had to conjure furniture to the empty rooms. The wine-cellar was stocked up, though." As an afterthought, he mumbled: "Drunken idiots, the lot of them."

He grabbed her arm, and moved her to the windows, opening one to step out on the terrace. The verdant smell of greenery, flowers and a faint whiff of wood smoke hit her nose, and her eyes took in the view of large trees, a well-tended garden with flower beds, lush grass and neat paths.

"It looks well-tended now," she said questioningly. "Was that by magic too?"

"Partly," he flitted a quick look at her, "and our new servants has been working diligently."

At that, she furrowed her brow. _ Servants and lack of money, it just didn't add up. What had he done? _

"Over there," he pointed towards the back, "I'll set up a greenhouse and some beds for growing potion ingredients. It'll be easier to grow some of it on our property than buying, especially some of the more dangerous plants."

She nodded, taking in the view, noting that the house was situated on a hill. Still feeling slightly in shock from the attack, she concentrated on the relief, taking in the fresh air and beautiful scenery. "It's lovely," she breathed. "I never knew that this house, this property was like this."

He shot a questioning glance to her, eyebrows arching.

Fumbling a little to reply, she said: "In my time, this house was almost a ruin. You did use it, but it was derelict. I don't think anyone thought you ever cared for it or did anything to keep it up."

He snorted, and said: "And I probably wouldn't have, if it wasn't for you. We need a home, a base for my plans, and this will do nicely. As for my Muggle family – well. Let me show you the dining room."

He took her arm again, and she followed with a slight tremor in her body. _ She knew what had happened in the dining room, but she also understood, that what he was doing right now, was deliberately distracting her from what had just happened in Knockturn Alley. _

Entering, he pointed to the large, mahogany table, roomy enough for entertaining thirty people or so. "That's where they sat, last summer, when I showed up. They weren't exactly welcoming, and they got what they deserved. Did you know, I could have had a very decent upbringing, even though they were _ Muggles _ , but they left me in that … orphanage … to suffer lack of food, a fucking Muggle _ war _ plus abuse for being _ strange, frightening _ and _ demon-like." _The sneer in his voice was almost palatable, with deep layers of hurt, derision and hatred underneath.

She nodded, and turned to him, eyes serious, stating: "They were wrong." 

There was no point in arguing that outright murder might have been a little too harsh as a reaction. The Riddle family were dead and gone, no matter her opinions. She noted, though, that there were empty spaces on the wall where the family portraits had hung. He had obviously removed any traces of his Muggle relatives.

He squeezed her shoulder, moving her out in the entrance hall to point out more rooms on the ground floor, a place for their library, parlor, ball room and study.

Moving up the grand staircase, he just pulled her along to a sumptuous bedroom, with a large, four-poster bed with green hangings, a fireplace, beautifully ornamented dressers and a tall wardrobe. In front of the bed and the fireplace, large, soft sheepskin rugs covered the floor.

"Enough for tonight, eh?" he whispered, and with a flick of his wand, he cleaned her magically and dressed her in a sheer, silk nightgown before laying her down into the bed. "I'll show you the rest tomorrow. The guestrooms, the kitchen and bathrooms, and… the nursery rooms."

Her eyes flicked to him, _ plural _ , she thought, _ plural as in more than one nursery room, _but he just pulled her to him, holding her tight in his arms. She felt soothed by his proximity, and tenseness evaporated slowly into sleep.

Xxxx

The next day, she woke feeling bodily well enough, though experiencing a numb feeling of shock and lingering terror. _ She had almost been raped, violated and abused. Inside, she felt sick thinking of what she had narrowly escaped, and angry and ashamed at herself for not being able to fight off her attackers, like she had lost all her hard-won wartime reflexes. _

Logically, she understood that being angry with herself was neither rational or sensible, because this wasn't her fault at all. Still, it was hard to overrule those feelings, like she had failed, being unable to fight her way out from the grips of her attackers. _ It was just like the Dolohov attack all again, that awful feeling of being weak, of being prey, of feeling powerless. _

She also tried to _ not _ think about what she had seen yesterday when Tom killed her attackers. That level of torture should have been disturbing, but she felt ashamed of the fact that she wanted to avoid thinking about it mainly because the memory of the sight itself was gross, rather than torture being morally wrong and terrible. As for the Duximon brothers, she still felt that they deserved to die. At some level, she thought that her own callousness in dismissing their rights to live should have been disturbing. _ It wasn't, though. _

She blushed her way through the nursery section – _ it was almost an entire wing – _wondering just how many kids he was envisioning, and then she got her first brush with the servants, as breakfast was served in the breakfast room. From the outset, it was clear that they were under the Imperius Curse.

Sitting stiffly at his left side, him at the end of the long table, her mouth felt pinched in distaste as she was served tea, toast and marmalade, the table set with beautiful china and heavy silverware from empty-eyed lackeys and a tall butler in Conjured uniforms. When the servants retreated, leaving the lord and lady of the house to enjoy their breakfast, she cocked her head at him. "Is that really necessary?"

Looking up at her from buttering his toast, he simply replied "yes." His expression told her clearly that he had decided, and wouldn't allow an argument. But she was not about to let it go.

"Why? I don't like it. People deserve better," she said.

"Perhaps, or it really doesn't matter what they deserve or not," he said indifferently. "The important thing is that they are under the curse for a reason. I don't want anyone spying on me, finding out my actions, I can't afford to pay them, and we haven’t got the opportunity to get a couple of House-elves yet. So this is it. And you, my dear, will keep from meddling with this. And that's an order, Hermione."

Straining against his will, she had to succumb to that damned bond he had imposed on her. _ To fight it made for an impossible pain about to bloom in her head, she knew that from previous experience. _

"Alright," she nodded grudgingly, a sour taste to her mouth. "I won't try to lift the curse, or even telling them about the possibility. But there's no way I'd hinder them in doing so of their own. This is outright slavery, and I won't stand for it."

He just smiled, like she had just said something incredibly stupid and wildly funny. "Darling, no one throws my Imperius unless I let them. Especially not Muggles." He took a few more bites off his toast, before saying casually: "And how's your research going on revoking your cursed potion?"

She threw him a dirty look, and said: "Not much time to work on it between the N.E.W.T.s and preparing for Sorbonne, you know, but I do have some ideas." 

In her head, she thought: _ Power-hungry git, you just had to show off your power over me, hadn't you, by reminding me of your ability to order me around? _But then he smiled at her, eyes glinting mischievously, and she felt her insides thaw with a sudden, unexpected warmth.

Xxxx

The rest of the day, she spent going over the grounds and the rest of the house, and they had a nice evening of settling in their books in the library. He wanted to throw out the Muggle literature left from his family, but she begged to save the books, and he begrudgingly accepted to magically enlarge the library instead, but shunted the Muggle books into the darkest corner.

Then he looked at her, saying with a serious look: "I hope you'll feel up to completing the wards tonight. There are things I want to show you as to how to handle the house."

"What do I have to do, other than give my blood?" she asked, a little apprehensively.

"Sex," he said, reaching out for her with a lazy smile.

She froze in the act of rising from her chair, a sinking feeling in her stomach, leaving her pale, drawn and blanched. _ She just couldn't. The memories of the attempted rape on her was too fresh, too real. _

Out loud, she said hesitantly:" I think I need more time to get over what happened yesterday." 

She swallowed heavily, and she was sure her eyes pleaded with him.

He nodded, eyes a little uncertain, and stretched out his arms to pull her in. "It doesn't have to be today," he said slowly, rubbing her back. She melted into his chest, relishing the safety she found in his arms.

Xxxx

The next morning, they took their tea in quiet, the warm sunlight playing on the polished wooden floor, glinting on the chandelier and silverware. He had, sometime yesterday, put up a small collection of magical artifacts, none of which she had seen among his belongings at Hogwarts, and they too caught the light on their shelves. _ Maybe it something he had pilfered from the Gaunt shack nearby _ , she wondered, _ or maybe he had gotten it in London, perhaps at Burgin and Borges. _

The very thought of that place made her shudder, not wanting to remember the assault. But it was just as disconcerting to realize that his magpie-tendencies that she knew from Harry's work with Dumbledore, in all probability was manifested in their house. _ Stolen heirlooms, things that he had killed or Obliviated to get hold of. It made her stomach twist. _

"Your friends wanted to come over before we leave in August," he suddenly said.

Eyes snapping to his face, she replied: "Yes, I would like that."

Nodding slightly, he pressed on: "We'll need to entertain quite a lot during our holidays from Sorbonne to build allies here in England." His eyes were sharp, watching her like a hawk.

Feeling very uncomfortable, she whispered: "I have no idea of what you expect me to do. I don't know anything about playing lady of the manor and making a favorable impression as a hostess. You know I don't have the right background, and I wasn't all that interested in the House-holding spells."

He barked a laugh, showing off his perfect, white teeth, and his eyes were coldly amused as he countered: "If I wanted a perfect little Pure-blood to host my parties, I wouldn't have married _ you. _" 

And then his eyes got that steely expression, showing that he wouldn't be denied, as he continued: "However, I expect you to _ learn_. You're smarter than anyone else I know, and you can do this – and you will. I need you to do this, to play your part in this too." His eyes softened a little as he added: "That's why I want your friends to visit. Joanna Parkinson can help you along. She would know all those little social niceties that books can't tell you. And …" his eyes lit up with amusement, "I aim to invite our _ other friends _over later in July. I suppose you'd like to have your skills honed and ready before Walburga arrives, or what?"

Looking at him, she pressed her lips together. _ Helping him to gain power by playing hostess, not having a say – yet – on who she wanted to invite, like having that despicable witchling Walburga coming to stay. Merlin, she wanted to beat herself up for ending up in a situation like this, though she supposed it was better than killing people for him. _

Outwardly, she just said: "I'll owl them right after breakfast. When would you like for them to visit?"

Xxxx

During the day, he had been busy, shooing her out of the study, Potion fumes spreading over the entrance hall. She secluded herself in the library, working on the two tasks he had ordered her to do: Finding a way to revoke her defensive Potion-spell, and reading up on '_Twenty tips to be a True Hostess'_. 

The first was difficult, though she had a few ideas that she were loath to test – after all, _ she _ didn't want to lift the spell, and the second was simply mind-shattering boring.

After dinner – a rather grand affair in the large dining room, seeming curiously empty with just the two of them – he said with a barely controlled intensity in his voice: "I want to do the warding spell tonight. Now, right here."

Immediately, she felt queasy. _ She couldn't handle it yet. Not being naked, not being touched with a sexual intent. All she could see and feel in her mind were the leering Duximon brothers, their rough hands and the feel of the younger brother's cock brushing her sex. It didn't matter that this was Tom, that he had saved her, no, she couldn't do it. _So she told him, but his reaction wasn't patient and understanding like she had hoped for.

"What? But that had nothing to do with _ me!" _ he almost shouted. "I saved you, it didn't happen, and now you're telling me that you will let this affect _ us?" _He glared at her, his hands curled into fists by his side. She could feel a crackle of magic running wild around the room, and her hair almost bristled by the contact with it.

"Still, I don't feel up to it yet," she said, her voice much more calm than she felt. _ Maybe it was to be expected. He would have a limited understanding of human emotions, being who he was. He was just so good at faking it, that it almost became hard to recall. _

"I didn't do anything to you, why should you abstain from me because those prats tried to accost you? I _ killed _them for you!" He was obviously very agitated, and his magic was gathering like a dark thunder cloud in the room, swirling, towering up into immensity, lightning crackling at the edges.

"I know," she said, eyes closed. "I wish it wasn't like this, but I just need some time. I can't even begin to tell you how little I want to think about sex now. I just don't want it!"

His voice was suddenly furious, low, dangerously so: "You don't want me?"

"I don't want to have sex with you right now," she corrected, anxiety permeating her voice.

"I need to protect you, and the house wards will help keeping you safe. We have to do this," he said, still in that low, terrible voice.

"No," she said, scared that he would use their marriage bond to force her.

"But I **love** you!" he yelled.

The silence in the room felt ringing after his outburst, the air almost thick and syrupy. Her mouth fell open, and her eyes bugged out of her head. _ No way, _ she thought. _ No fucking way! _

He stood still for a moment, chest heaving, before he paled, but his cheeks flamed up into those deep, red spots of embarrassed colour. Suddenly angry-looking, he twisted and Apparated on the spot, leaving her alone in the great dining room.

Xxxx

She had waited for him all night, feeling inexplicable flustered and shocked. A large portion of her wasn't willing to believe it, but his reaction afterwards told her it was the truth. If he had wanted to play her by making her believe that he loved her, he wouldn't have reacted by taking off like that. He had to be truly embarrassed to have fled from her.

Late at night, she realized he wouldn't show up, and she went to bed alone. Sitting in the large four-poster, she felt very alone, more so than she had previously felt. _My_ _husband, Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, loves me. I might have succeeded in changing the future radically. Dumbledore thought love was the way to defeat Voldemort. Have I defeated him now? Is this enough to change the future? Should I still try to kill him to follow my original plan – he's still a dangerous, dark wizard – do I need to kill him to make sure he doesn't destroy the world with me in tow? Or will he mellow and soften by loving me?_

Xxxx

She had barely gotten any sleep before sunrise – partly due to the shock and her own, conflicted thoughts, but also due to worry. _ Where was he? What was he doing? Was he out on a murder spree to exonerate himself in his own eyes for showing weakness? Or – _ her insides clenched _ – was he having sex with other girls to prove something to himself? _

A black cloud of bitter jealousy burned through her, and she envisioned him in the arms of other women, in brothels even, in the arms of Imelda Malfoy, or …

Listlessly, she had her breakfast, lunch and tea all alone, barely eating, before – very unlike her – asking their Imperioed butler to get her a bottle of wine to her supper. A fine, aged, red Burgundy was decanted in a crystal carafe, and she swirled the wine in her glass, trying to note the smell and taste of it. Giving up, she drank more than half of it quickly, feeling pleasantly sloshed, but still in a bad mood. At least, the wine dampened some of her emotions.

Wandering a little unsteadily outside in the garden, taking in the verdant smell of the summer night, she almost fell into a flower bed by the loud _ Crack_! of Apparition.

Catching herself on a tree trunk, her heart hammered in her chest. _ Not only because of the unexpected sound, but also because he looked so good – and she was wildly happy to see him again. _

His white shirt was pristine, black robes and shoes clean, hair perfect as always. But his eyes, they were burning just for her, and she made a strangled squeak of surprise as he roughly pulled her to him, kissing her soundly. For a long time that was the only thing in her mind – _ mouth moving, tongues meeting, a light scraping of teeth, breath mingling, hands holding her, cradling her head – _and then she broke free, taking a step back. 

They both stood breathlessly, looking at each other, and simultaneously, they said:

"Where were you?"

"I meant what I said."

Her mouth became an O, and her hand went to her heart. _ Sweet Morgana, I'm reacting like a damsel in distress, _ she thought scathingly to herself, but she couldn't help it, she was overwhelmed. _ He confirmed it. He loved her. _

"The Forbidden Forest," he said, cutting her short. "I had to think, alone. Did some heavy spell-casting."

Nodding, she didn't protest as he dragged her towards the house, into the dining room.

Perhaps it was because she was slightly drunk, or perhaps she was blown away by his return, she didn't protest this time.

Well inside, he concentrated for a quick moment, and she felt a small release of magic. At her unspoken question, he replied: "The servants. I made sure they wouldn't leave their quarters for the night."

"You grounded the wards in here?" she asked, wondering if this wasn't a little unusual. _ Most wards she had ever heard of were grounded somewhere deep, in the foundations of houses, in basements. _

Giving her a quick glance, he smiled a little. "Are you sure you want to know why?" he said slowly.

Nodding quietly, she said simply: "It's always better to know the truth."

"Alright. Don't complain if it's not … to your liking. You know I killed my relatives in this room. Placing the wards in a room where the family's blood has been spilled is more than a symbolic gesture. It makes a stronger connection between the house and us, and the fact that I killed them confirms my mastery of the house. Your blood will seal your part as my wife, but as I told you, we need to prove our bond to the house by having sex."

Pulling up her sleeve, baring her wrist, he flourished a small, silver knife, making her grasp it. 

His pale yew wand in his hand, he drew a wide arch over their heads, chanting slowly: “_Servo Hereditas Domus, Contego e Defendo, Parere Dominus e Domina.” _

She watched, fascinated, as the house shook with a great thud, great, blue arches of light becoming visible all around them, encompassing the house and the grounds. A throbbing, bluish-white center yawned like a great maw on the floorboards, and he nudged her in the direction of it. 

Looking at him, she slit her wrist with the silver knife, letting drops of blood trickle run down into the chasm, her blood staining the light with a reddish tinge. She became aware of a _ pulse _ in the house, and slowly, her own pulse and the dripping of her blood became synchronized, matching the beating of the house – _ its heart _? 

_ Thu-thud - drip, thu-thud – drip, thu-thud- drip_. It was her, and the beating heart of the house, the awareness intruding on her, nestling in the back of her head. Then another awareness bloomed in her mind, _ him, _sharing the space with the house.

He came behind her, holding her up by taking hold of her waist, supporting her against his chest, and she felt dizzy as her blood was dripping faster – _ faster – and faster _ – until the maw suddenly snapped shut, and the house groaned like a great beast. Staring at the beams, she noted that the wound on her wrist had stopped bleeding, only a thin, red line were still oozing droplets.

Suddenly slumping back at him, she almost didn't notice that he led her to the end of the great dining table, pushing her on top of it, her legs dangling over the edge, pushing her back down to rest on the mahogany table top. 

Standing in front of her, in the master's seat, he Vanished their clothes, and her eyes widened to see his cock at the ready, hard with the tip swollen and red, already leaking, like he was close to his orgasm. 

_ She should not have been turned on. She had just narrowly escaped rape, she had lost a lot of blood, she was dizzy and weak, but still. Between her legs, wetness almost dripped from her, and she ached for him. For him, for her husband, for the dark wizard who loved her. _

She stretched her arms out to him, saying faintly: "Come, take me."

He grunted, grabbing her hips, thrusting hard inside her at once, breath shuddering from him as he buried himself, eyes closing for a moment, his face a mask of ecstasy. Setting a fast pace, he pushed his cock up her slick channel, one hand deftly fingering her clit. 

The other hand traveled to grasp her wounded wrist, lifting it to his mouth, where he licked slowly along the seam of the rapidly closing wound, making her gasp and curl her toes in an unexpected pleasure. _ Damn, she was close – was there something especially heady with this kind of magic? – _ and almost embarrassingly fast, her walls clamped down around him, she whimpered his name, moaning "Please, oh it's so good, I'm coming for you, oh _ Voldemort…," _ head thrown back and back arched on the hard surface, her legs trashing wildly in his hands.

He continued to thrust into her, jaw set, a faint smear of her blood across his lips, now grunting with each push. His dark eyes never left her as he pulled her hips even closer, changing the angle, making her clit scrape against his pelvic bone. She felt the tingling pressure inside her build up even more, his cock slamming into her just right. 

Gasping for breath, her eyes fluttered as she came undone once more, her heart shouting "I love you, I love you too!", but the only words escaping her mouth were "More, please, again, oh Merlin, fuck me harder, VOLDEMORT!"

His name on her tongue ended with a shout, and at the sound of his name, he collapsed forward, hips still driving into her with force, his cock spasming violently inside her pussy, and he groaned "Hermione!" before laying still over her chest, breathing hard, crushing her with his weight.

Xxxx

The next morning, she curled up into him, before he pulled her into slow lovemaking. Breakfast was consequently late, but the servants kept up their vacant smiles nonetheless. The rest of the day he spent in the study, and at dinner, he told her that he'd need the dining room for a test.

"I'll be busy, so keep away if it isn't important," he said. With a wicked glint in his eyes, he kissed her hair, before whispering into her ear: "I'm going to break your curse."

She stared at him in surprise, before saying slowly: "Be careful. I've researched it like you told me to, and so far, possible methods might be difficult, dangerous – maybe even lethal."

"I know," he said with a confident expression, before shooing her outside.

She was walking in the garden, seeing odd flashes of light from the dining room, red, yellow and white streaks lightening up the house in the darkness of the summer night. His magic was swirling around the house, almost visible to her eyes, and the garden became silent except for the occasional fizzing of the lights from the house. 

Crickets and frogs was quiet, and she couldn't even hear flies buzzing. A flight of birds flapped up from the trees, seemingly escaping the property as it slowly got colder and darker. She shivered, rubbing her arms slowly, wondering if she should return to the house. 

Then there was an almighty crash coming from inside the house, and she heard a strangled yell. Standing stock still, she stared at her wedding ring, his Horcrux, as it became ice-cold, glowing with a strange light.

Heart in her throat, she didn't stop to think, just sprinted to the house, tearing inside through the open, French windows of the drawing room, running through the hall and wrenching open the door to the dining room.

Stopping suddenly, she took in the scene. The great table had fallen on its side, chairs lay pell-mell around the room, and, there, in a pool of blood, lay her husband. The cabinets along the floor were reflected in the blood oozing on the polished wooden floorboards, and candles twinkled in the upside-world of the mirror of blood.

The long, lean body on the floor spasmed, and he had lost the grip on his wand, trying to inch his hand towards it, pale wand slick with blood, just outside his reach. But he was choking on his own blood, it was flooding his mouth, making him struggle for breath with wet, gurgling sounds. His eyes were open, locking on her, and he raised one hand to her, like a plea for help, before it flopped limply down by his side again.

A million thoughts went through her head. Her rational mind whispered to her: _ He's dying. I can fulfill my plan by doing nothing. I can just stand here, quietly, seeing the darkest wizard known to Britain drown in his own blood. It won't even be my fault. I can do this without damaging my soul. You can take out the Horcruxes after he's dead. _

But her heart fought every single one of these thoughts:_ You can't do that! You love him. He's your husband, you can make the world better, you have already changed the future substantially. He loves you. _

The cool, logical side of her objected:_ There's no guarantee for that! He's insane, he's forced you to a vow of obeisance, he will trick you again and again. Maybe he's even lying about his feelings! _

Interjecting, her heart protested:_ NO, I know he loves me. Dumbledore always said that love was what we fought for. The Voldemort of the future doesn't know what love is, the Tom Riddle here in this room, he does. He's not like that. He loves me, I love him, I will save him! _

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, feeling her loyalties _ shift, _she whipped her wand out, running a diagnostic spell on him. His throat lit up with a dangerous, pulsing violet color. 

Kneeling beside him on the floor, she found a great tear on the inside, blood pulsing out in time with his weakening heartbeat. She met his eyes, his expression a desperate prayer, and she pressed her wand against his jugular. 

Slowly, she chanted a Healing spell: “_Curat Sangui Venata,” _aiming to stop the flow of blood, knitting the flesh together.

He coughed, spitting up even more blood, eyes rolling back in his head, but slowly, the trickle out of his mouth stopped, and his heartbeat became steadier. She cradled his head in her lap, monumentally shaken by what she had done.

_ I saved Lord Voldemort from death. I must be stupid. It may be that love is good, but this also must be morally wrong, saving someone who has killed and will kill so many people in the future. Or is it? Am I right – can love redeem him, at least partly? _

Her troubled, conflicted thoughts were interrupted by a deep, rattling breath, and those dark, bottomless eyes opened again, looking at her face.

_ "Crucio," _ he whispered faintly, and her face fell in shock. Nothing happened, though, and he laughed briefly, mirthlessly, before coughing violently.

She tried to push him off her lap, angrily – _ I fucking saved him, and he tries to torture me – _but he was too weak to sit up, flopping back into her lap.

"Sorry," he murmured, "I had to test if I manage to lift the spell, but I was quite certain that I had failed."

"You'd better be," she snarled, eyes blazing, "this wasn't what I expected."

"I can see that. Sorry, I should have started with a thank you," he replied hoarsely, but his eyes looked soft. "You saved my life, even though you weren't sure. I thought you'd let me die. But you didn't."

She looked away. "I couldn't," she said shortly. _ Her mind pounded with recriminations: I should have let him die. But her heart, her steadfast, hopeful heart told her: You did the right thing. You love him, even though he is dark. _

"Why?" he croaked out.

Meeting his eyes, she said slowly, haltingly: "Because I love you too."

Xxxx

Much later, she had managed to put him on his feet, leading him into the library to sit in front of the fire, a throw blanket around him to keep him warm, despite the warm summer night. 

She rummaged through their stores in the study to gather ingredients. In the library, she set up a makeshift Potions lab, cutting the ingredients on a chopping block placed on the floor, the cauldron in the fireplace. 

The Blood-Replenishing potion was mercifully quick to brew, and as it simmered in the cauldron, she magically cleaned and righted the furniture in the dining room. Stopping for a moment, she wondered if the wards would be strengthened by the amount of blood shed today. The spell hadn't been invoked, but still there might be some residue, letting the wards feed of the blood.

Back in the library, she gave the potion the final stirs with her trusty stirring stick, and fed him the Blood-Replenisher. She gave him all she had brewed, just to be sure, because luckily, one couldn't overdose on this particular potion.

He was still deathly pale, weak and shivering, but with his hands clutching a tumbler of Firewhisky, he looked more like himself, huddling beneath his blanket. 

After cleaning up the makeshift lab, she settled in the chair opposite his, gazing at the fire. She could feel his eyes on her, weighing her. The fire crackled merrily, spreading the lovely smell of woodsmoke in the room.

"We should talk," he said at last.

Turning to gaze at him, she noted that his expression was thoughtful.

"Yes," she replied at last.

Silence fell, none of them were willing to start the conversation. At last, he sighed, rubbing his jaw slowly. "We're in _ love_, Hermione. Where does that leave us?"

Goggling at him, she thought: _ The only ones treating this as a disaster would be us. He sounds like we had just found out we'd fallen out of love, and that the subject we're discussing is our divorce. _

Giggling slightly at the absurdity, she raised a mocking eyebrow at him: "As a loving, married couple, I expect."

He made a quick grimace, and replied testily: "You know very well what I mean. You and me, we're not _ anyone_. Does this mean I can trust you? With… everything? Do you trust me? That sort of thing."

Smiling a little, she said: "I don't think we'll ever trust each other fully. You and me, we're not made that way. But yes, it should mean _ more _trust, and…" her voice wavered, "we could, perhaps, expect more support from each other."

"Yes," he said slowly, seeming a little relieved.

"For starters," she continued, "I would like for us to take a vow. An Unbreakable Vow. You will not use the marriage bond to force me to obey you, and I will lift that curse from you. I think I know how, now, and in a _ safe _ way."

"An Unbreakable Vow. Such a 'romantic' proposition. That's not really a sign of trust, is it?" he quipped lightly.

She smiled in return. "No, but then we aren’t that trusting. I don't think being forced to obey you have anything to do with trust, for instance. And then if I do something you don't like, you _ can _hurt me – but then again, since we're in love: Why would I make trouble for you, and why would you want to hurt me?"

"Deal," he said, holding out his hand, grinning boyishly, clasping her hand in the Muggle fashion. "As soon as we get a bonder."

Sighing in relief, she shook his hand. "Then we're even," she said.

"If you think so," he said with a smirk.

"What?" she said irritated. "Are you going to use your power against me to make me comply?"

"I don't play fair, Hermione," he said, his expression half-serious.

"I know," she said darkly. "Can't believe I love you, really."

"Oh, come on," he scoffed. "You know my darkest side. Maybe that's why you love me?" He chuckled, and she noted that he was already looking much better, skin tone normalizing, eyes clear and glittering with laughter.

Not being able to stay her curiosity, she asked: "When did you realize you had feelings for me?"

Sending her a guarded look, he thought about that for a moment, twirling his wand between his fingers. Shaking his head, he replied: "I'm going to do a very un-Slytherin thing. I'll show you. Enter my mind, will you?"

Staring at him, not quite believing her own ears, she brought up her vine wand, feeling the carved ridges of flowers and leaves almost cutting into her hand, her grip on it almost so tight that it hurt. 

"_Legilimens," _she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe me, even though they have (grudgingly) accepted their feelings, this ride isn't over...


	23. Lord and Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione stood by the French windows, almost numb with the pain in her heart. This was no party. This was a Dark Revel, just as bad as in the future. And her husband, he stood calmly by her side, a small smile on his mouth, as he slowly, deliberately fondled her backside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're in for the final haul - the next to last chapter! 
> 
> Earlier, when I wrote Absence, I found it super disturbing and difficult to write Tom's memories. His memories in this chapter would match to scenes in these chapters: A Mind Can Be a Cold Place, Christmas Revels and Unforgivable. 
> 
> (Later on, I wrote a whole story with a Voldemort POV, while laughing all the way. He’s a balance between complex mind and overwhelmingly selfish emotions/ lack of empathy, which made for a rather fun thought process.)
> 
> Oh well, here's a trip down memory lane for our favorite Dark Lord.

She was transported into his mind, falling into weightless darkness, feeling that freezing cold, Arctic air around her mind, seeing those dangerous flares of lava being thrown into the air in a distance, his volcanic mindscape trembling with deep rumbles like earthquakes. 

Standing in front of a large crater, glowing lava bubbled, popped with a sinister light, slowly oozing from a fissure vent, sulphurous steam throwing a haze over the cracked landscape. One reddish-blackened bubble floated impossibly up towards her, a searing heat emanating from it, and then she fell headlong into it, crying out as she expected to burn…

_ Xxxx _

…and she was standing in the hallway, and arguing with Head Girl Roona Blotts. _ Nosy bint_, she thought, feeling irritated at the girl's ongoing prattling.

_ Wait – did she think that? No… _ She was a passenger in his mind, she realized, experiencing his thoughts and feelings. _ Something inside her screamed – I'm trapped in Lord Voldemort's mind! _ But another part of her calmly pointed out that she was inside a memory from the man she loved, not trapped at all. _ He would let her out. He would, wouldn't he? _

She – _ he_, let Roona's voice fade to a buzz, as he watched Sebastian and Cygnus walking 

towards them. They were arguing in whispered voices. Curiosity picked, he saw that Sebastian clearly lost the argument, and Cygnus practically scampered away. Sebastian took a deep breath, before walking swiftly towards him. _ What was this about? _Sebastian was clearly very disturbed and worried – it would be bad news, then.

His eyes flashed with irritation, as Sebastian stupidly in front of the inquisitive Head girl blurted out: "My Lord…"

Roona's eyes opened wide, and she gasped. "I knew it," she said breathlessly. "I knew it – you're setting yourself up as a Slytherin lord, making them obey you!"

Anger boiling, he flicked her a quick Obliviate, at the same time wondering how many more Memory Charms the inquisitive Head Girl could endure before her mind was destroyed. _ This had to be the… fifth, this year. An interesting experiment, that. _

He turned to her, and said, his pleasant expression firmly in place: "It's settled, then. We switch patrol schedules, and I accept taking on Friday night if you leave me free on Saturday night."

The girl nodded, disappearing with a dazed look on her face.

Giving Sebastian a cold glare, he growled: "This better be important."

Sebastian paled, squeezed his eyes shut, clearly bracing himself. "I thought you would like to know, my Lord, Granger has accepted to go to the Halloween feast with the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Darnsby."

_ Hermione gasped, as a deep, reddish-tinged darkness boiled up in her – no, him. _

He needed an outlet – _ damn it _ , _ Granger _ , when would the girl realize that she was supposed to fall for _ him? _ He practically bent every which way to get her, to get access to her knowledge of the future, and that delicious body of hers, too. 

If she had been any other girl, he'd have fucked her six ways until Sunday by now, and left her in a simpering heap. But she STILL resisted him, and now she was going to the Halloween feast with FUCKING BENJAMIN DARNSBY!? _ What the hell_? He wouldn't allow this, Granger was his, only his! _ What – no? Everyone belonged to him if he wanted to, but he usually didn't worry about who they dated. Was this different, somehow? _

Scowling at Sebastian, he slipped inside his mind, setting up a nice little Cruciatus in there by a whispered spell: "_Hallucin Cruxit." _ The boy would experience the curse, but only in his mind. Withdrawing, he as always wondered when the boy would finally snap. He could swear, Sebastian's mind was deteriorating. More twisted fantasies and less grip on reality, every, single time. Sebastian's usefulness would soon be at an end, he was sure.

By seeing the frantic, panicked and pained expression on his follower's face, he felt a slight relief from his own rage, but the tension was still there. Letting the spell go, he said quietly: "Remember, it doesn't pay to be the bearer of bad news. Cygnus made the wise choice, you failed. Maybe this will teach you. Be smarter next time."

Leaving Lestrange, who supported himself weakly on the wall, he went to find Granger, striding quickly along the corridors. _ He would make sure the infuriating slip of a girl knew that she wouldn't escape him. It was time to stop playing nice. He would have her, and publicly at that. No one would doubt that she belonged to him, and absolutely no one would entertain the notion that Lord Voldemort just had been cut off. _

Xxxx

Gasping, she retreated from the memory. _ Oh Merlin, this was how he had felt before the Halloween debacle when he had accosted her publicly. _This was pure, unadulterated jealousy, rage and possessiveness. But then she drifted into the next memory…

Xxxx

… and he was walking briskly towards the castle, feeling a curious mix of anger and elation. The December sun was pale, and he missed the warmth of her small hand on his and the heat from the side of her body pressed to his side. 

The fact that she had suffered insults made him furious – he'd damn well teach the world not to pick on a girl he had chosen to name as his ‘girlfriend,’ however different his understanding of the concept was from what the rest of the world meant by that term. _ Granger was useful. She was almost as smart as himself, she knew how the future would play out, she was a very powerful witch, headstrong and willful, and she was beautiful. All in all, a fitting companion for himself, one who wouldn't bore him. One that would keep him amused, entertained, pleased and challenged. _

And now, she had asked him to exact revenge on a boy who had insulted her. He knew that _ she _ knew what he could do, and still, she had asked. The fact that she had accepted – no, almost _ embraced _ the darker aspects of him, left him thrilled. _ Granger could be the follower he had always needed, the one who was intelligent enough to understand what had to be done and with the willpower to see it through. And now, she had called on him to punish her offender. _

He found that he quite liked that – not only did he enjoy the chance to do a bit of torture, he also liked the thought of doing it for _ her. _ He would expect her to _ reward _him for this.

He felt his pulse pick up a bit as he remembered how she had tossed him off on Christmas morning. Certainly, he had had girls that were more experienced and advanced, but still, her touch had been electrifying, very satisfying…

The boy he had been seeking was fooling around in the courtyard with his friends. He slipped quickly inside his mind from a distance, telling him to go to the empty classroom on the third floor. The boy's consciousness wilted under his dominance, and the sixth grader plodded along in front of him to receive his punishment.

Imagining briefly what he could do to him, he felt himself smile. _Oh yes, he'd protect Granger's honor._ _Wait, protect? Why?_ _Merlin, this was odd. Was he turning soft for some reason_? Maybe this was what people would refer to as ‘caring’ for his ‘girlfriend’. _But how would _**_he_**_ know the difference_? _She was more than just a girl, but what was she to him, exactly?_

Xxxx

Coughing from the fumes from the magma, she felt shaky and hot like she had a fever. Taking a wild look around, seeing the mindscape shift, she dove into a molten, seething glob of lava zooming towards her…

Xxxx

…and he had been in _ her _ mind, watching her kill first one Death Eater, then a second, before viewing Ginny's horrifying death. The green flashes of the Killing Curse lit up the forest and the parlor of 12 Grimmauld Place, and he exulted in her power, her determination, callousness and mastery. _ No doubt, no self-recrimination, just the magic barreling through her as she pointed her wand. _

Simultaneously, he was very aware of how he pressed his body into hers. He was achingly hard, wanting to take her right there, right now in the Defense classroom, and he just knew she wanted it as well. _ He needed her, her passion would match his. _

With relish he purred at her: "I may have gone after you for the wrong reason, Hermione. You are absolutely - what was it I saw in your mind – someone calling you ‘the brightest witch of your age’. I want your memories and what you know of my future, but you are also _ dark _, Hermione. I can see it. You've wielded dark magic, and you will do it again. We can do … things … together."

_ And like that, he knew he loved her. She had killed, viciously, with skill, speed and strength, keeping her head cool even in desperate situations. She would do it again. With him, for him, forever – made possible by her enchanted Time-turner, fueled by the death and brutal killing of one she had considered a friend. She was worthy of being his consort. _

Xxxx

Retreating into her own mind, she blinked, staring at him. He say across from her in front of the fire, the light playing on his beautiful features, and at the same time, she shuddered inside, feeling somewhat appalled. 

_ Those feelings, those emotions were real and achingly strong, but his motivation – oh, how different that was from anything even remotely resembling romance and tenderness. He was selfish, power-hungry and possessive – but she already knew that. Awfully enough, she didn't mind. It was enough, he really loved her. Lord Voldemort loved her, truly. _

"Oh," she said, voice almost wavering with her own emotions. "That early – in January?"

"Yes," he said, his face shouting that he still was uncomfortable. But he continued slowly: "Before that, I wanted you so badly, but these were my turning points. What happened before that last one, well, I can't say it was love, but you have always been different to me from anyone else, you shouldn't doubt that."

_ She had gotten much more than she'd ever thought he'd say. _Feeling as if she should reciprocate, she opted for answering: "For obvious reasons, you have always been different for me too. I admit that you scared me, but I've always wanted you – in a way. I felt traces of caring for you, from your birthday…" she blushed a little at his grin, knowing full well that he had latched on to what she meant – at that time, she had unexpectedly gifted him with a blow job – "and especially after that ritual in the Forbidden Forest. But then you threw me away. It was hard, actually."

"I know," he said. "I … couldn't … take it. This thing, this _ love _” - his face twisted into a grimace, distorting his features into a brief flash of something hideous - "wasn’t something I had planned for. It wasn’t something I was supposed to feel.” 

The logs in the fireplace crackled again, and he poured himself another glass of Firewhisky, downing it quickly.

"It's all in the past, now," she sighed. After a long while, she asked: "So, what are you planning, exactly?" 

Giving her a quick look, he said: "I suppose I should trust you with that. You will know, sooner or later. You told me that in your future, I set myself up as a villain being openly dark, leading to war with an uncertain outcome, a war where I lost spectacularly before returning, and that the result was still unresolved when you came here."

"Yes," she nodded by confirmation.

"I'm not that patient," he said simply. "I won't wait so many years to win. So, this time around, I won't be the villain. I'll be the hero. In the public eye, I'll be the savior who can do spectacular feats of magic, with a lovely, smart and compassionate wife, and children to soften and strengthen our image. First, we'll make our way at Sorbonne, creating a reputation. When we return to England, internationally acclaimed, I'll take up a position in the Ministry for a while as I build my power base. But the endgame, darling, is that we're going to be wizarding royalty. You will be my queen, Hermione, quite literally."

She wasn't quite sure if she had heard correctly. Her voice was faint: "You mean to be a wizard king?" 

"Yes." There was steel in his voice, and he smiled faintly at her shock. "And you, my queen, you'll have all the resources you could want to build your magical University, you can run the school system as you'd like, reform laws and justice, anything you'd like to do in the Ministry. Make the world better, if you wish so. I'll run the world, making the wizarding world more powerful, ensuring that dark and old magic are researched, respected and utilized as it should be. And above all, they'll all revere me – and you."

"You aim to be the next Merlin?" she blurted out.

He appeared to consider that, before he nodded, genuinely pleased. "Yes, that's an apt description," he said. "Though, of course, the two of us won't die." His expression was watchful, as he judged the impact of his words.

"You know?" she whispered, blushing as she lifted the Time-Turner at her throat.

"I know. You and I, we'll go along together through the centuries. I suspected your Time-Turner to be a kind of a… Horcrux, to keep you alive through such an extreme Time-travel. And, I know quite a lot about this particular branch of magic."

She lifted her wedding ring, the heavy, Gaunt ring towards him, and whispered: "I know. I know about the Diary too."

He didn't seem that surprised, but there was a small tick at his left eye. "We deserve each other, then," he said, eyes boring into her. "Two Soul-splitters, bonded for eternity. To take the world, one needs a certain callousness, and the two of us have that in abundance. And we'll stay in power, no matter the cost. Your task is to make this more … gentle, more acceptable for the public eye, binding them to us. My task is to rule them, sway them, force them and command them."

Her eyes, unpleasantly dry and without tears, were hid behind her hair that fell down over her face, though her voice was breaking as she said "yes." _ She should be devastated when her most important emotional attachment was Lord Voldemort. Instead, she couldn't really care. People would die, and she would try to hinder it – but she realized she could never save them all. Because she had chosen him instead of the greater good, hadn't she? _

Xxxx

_ Bliss_. This summer had become absolute bliss in the aftermath of her saving him. They read, argued theories, practiced, ate, slept, made love – just enjoyed each other more freely than they had ever done before. It was unexpected, strange and achingly bittersweet. She still had bouts of self-recrimination, feeling ashamed for choosing him instead of saving the wizarding world from him, but all things considered, she thought they were happy.

Slowly, the garden became magical. It seemed like the magic now imbued in the house and the property attracted magical creatures by the score. Bowtruckles were scampering in the trees, and fairies and Flitterbys fluttered among the leaves. Flobberworms feasted on the flowers, and the attic had gotten a Boggart. Garden gnomes sprinted across the lawn, giggling madly as they chased Giant Dung Beetles and unlucky Knarls.

Tom was playful, frequently scaring her by calling small snakes, making them slither around her legs as she was immersed in a book, and he laughed so hard for every surprised shriek she emitted, that she sometimes could swear he got tears in his eyes from laughing.

Pointing her finger at him, she yelled: "I'll get you for this! Making that little bugger entwine itself around my leg – you're lucky I don't hex you to Land's End and back!"

"They're not dangerous," he wheezed, laughter making him breathless, "and they only want to know you, to see for themselves why I like you."

She shook her head exasperatedly at him, shivering at the feeling of dry, slithering scales against her bare skin.

Then his followers were to stay for a week in late July. She was apprehensive, knowing that his goal was to raise an Inferi, and teaching his followers how to do it.

"I know you don't like it," he said, stroking her hair idly as they lay in the grass in the cool shade of an oak tree. He was reading a dark text on Mind magic, and she rested her head on his muscled abdomen, leafing through the newest edition of the Arithmancy Chronicler. "Try to think about this as… a school project. Something I do to prepare for Sorbonne."

His abdomen shook with silent laughter as she snorted. "_School project_," she said in a derisive tone, appalled at the way he tried to sweeten the wording of what was actually a brutal homicide. "Since when did killing a human being for _ fun _ become a research project?"

"Taking it too far, was I?" His voice was still merry, and she shook her head at the absurdity.

"Yes!"

"Still, I need to test this. I'll go through with it," he said decisively. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she considered, not for the first time, if it indeed was possible to keep someone like him from violence. _ Because if it wasn't, how would she save the world _?

He stroked her hair for a while, before he conceded: "Will it make you feel better if I choose someone who deserve to die?"

"Some kind of criminal?" she asked, rolling her head so that she could see his face.

"Yes." His eyes were dark, inscrutable, as he watched her face intently.

"I … suppose it would be better," she said slowly. "Not if it's a petty thief or a youth who's done a one-time mugging, but someone who's repeatedly committed crimes. Bad ones."

"I can find someone like that," he said. But as they held each other's gaze, they both knew that the worst criminal in Little Hangleton was relaxing right here, enjoying a summer afternoon with his wife, while planning another murder.

Xxxx

As the Slytherin gang arrived, she felt thankful for Joanna's kind advice on how to act like a gracious, Pure-blooded hostess. Walburga entered the house, ready to sneer at her efforts, but she knew she had done everything in the proper way. 

After all, she was Hermione Granger, and while a little house playing wasn't her idea of fun, she would not want to do badly – especially if she had an opportunity chance to snub the irate, Pure-blooded witch.

_It had been a lovely weekend, with Mariette and Joanna in the house. The three of them went for walks, stayed up late, sharing bottles of wine, laughing and talking about their future. Joanna had instructed the two of them in the ropes of throwing a Pure-blood party and catering to guests that stayed overnight. Mariette had been eager to learn as well, confessing well into the night that she now had a reasonable hope to run a manor of her own, as Augustus Rookwood had come a-calling almost every evening. Tom had tucked himself away in the study, only coming out to play the gracious host at meals. Though, Hermione had to smile, he had pestered her enough in the bedroom as to what _**_he_** _was supposed to do as the host._

And now, the nine Slytherins, Sebastian Lestrange, Abraxas Malfoy, Edmund Rosier, Antonin Dolohov, Edward Goyle, Marvin Crabbe plus the three Blacks, Cygnus, Walburga and Druella, were in her parlor, drinking from flutes of champagne and nibbling on finger sandwiches as they looked around the room with interest.

"So, this was your father's house, my Lord?" Cygnus asked carefully and deferential, all the pretense from Hogwarts of being equals gone. Now, Hermione realized, it was out in the open. _ He was the Dark Lord for his followers already. _

"Yes," Tom said, eyebrows signaling that this line of questioning wasn't acceptable. "That part of the family is all gone. Now, there's only me, and Slytherin's blood takes precedence in any case. But the house is serviceable."

She noted several of them flicking curious gazes at him. _ They probably wondered if he killed the Riddles, but no one would dare to ask. She supposed it was sensible of him to not share the extent of his homicides. That sort of knowledge could be dangerous. _

"More than serviceable, I'd say," Walburga unexpectedly replied. "The gardens and what we've seen of the house is beautiful, well kept and tended. And we can all feel the magic throbbing in the House wards. This is truly a magical estate fit for your Lordship." 

Moving her eyes over to Hermione, the Black heiress smiled – for once, a real, inviting smile – and she continued: "You must have done a good job with the servants, my Lady. Our reception is impeccable."

Eyes widening, Hermione nodded in thanks. _ Though, it wasn't exactly hard to get a group of people under the Imperius curse to do their best. _ As Tom spoke to each and every one of their guests – _ giving them orders for what he wanted them to do over the next year, she knew _ – she moved over to Abraxas to get away from Walburga. She asked him in a light tone: "And how's Muriel? Still in London?"

The expression on the tall blonde's face became shadowed, and he said curtly: "For the moment, she's staying with her family." 

Hermione was surprised to see his eyes almost glisten, and felt that her sense of foreboding from the train back from Hogwarts had been fulfilled. _ Because there was no way that Ron's Great Aunt had ended up being married to a Malfoy. The timeline couldn't become that distorted. _

Still, she replied softly: "You might still come to an agreement. The result may not be exactly as you wish, nor what she wants, but if you care for each other, you'll work it out."

His eyes were still serious, his mouth tugged a little in a half smile, and he said playfully: "I suppose you're speaking out of experience." Lowering his voice to a whisper, leaning down to her ear, he breathed at her: "Though making _ him _compromise on anything is a feat you should be proud of."

She smiled ruefully. "I don't know about compromise," she said.

"But indeed," Abraxas replied, taking a sip of his champagne. "It's obvious to all of us, and has been for quite a while, that he does listen to you." His eyes were bright, curious, and she couldn't help picturing all the little cogs and wheels in his mind turning, plotting how he could turn befriending her to his advantage.

"Maybe," she said softly, letting her eyes linger on Tom, who was listening to Edmund Rosier talking animatedly. Turning back to Abraxas, she said: "But you and Muriel, I hope it'll work out for you." To her own surprise, she was actually sincere, if not for his sake, but for Muriel's.

Abraxas sighed, and muttered: "We are not in agreement of how our future should enfold."

She touched his arm lightly, and replied: "For some women, the freedom of choice might be more important than love. I think that applies to Muriel. If you're not willing to let up on traditions, she might leave you, even though she loves you. And does it really matter, Abraxas, if she's a female Auror with a career _ and _also the lady Malfoy?"

He sighed, saying tiredly: "It may not be that easy, but you might be right." Again trying to evade the subject, he said: "I would also have thought that _ you _were that kind of woman who'd set her freedom higher than love."

His words stung – _ she had just let her heart rule over her brain and the greater good of the world when saving Tom from dying _– but she just nodded. "Someone made the choice for me," she said a little bitterly.

Abraxas put an arm around her shoulder, squeezing briefly, his eyes more understanding than she'd thought him capable of. Then he withdrew, his eyes widening, as Tom came striding across the room towards them, daggers glaring in his eyes.

"This seemed so cozy, Abraxas," he said silkily, throwing a possessive arm around her waist. She almost rolled her eyes, but decided to keep up the façade of the polite hostess, melting into his side, giving him a sultry smile, quickly running her tongue over her lips. As she had guessed, Tom was thrown off his track, looking slightly baffled, with a sharp intake of his breath.

"Anyway, Abraxas," he continued after a short while. "I need your service for a Vow this afternoon. Will you please step outside for a moment with us?"

She patted his arm, feeling pleased that she finally would be free of that bond of obeisance from their marriage.

Xxxx

Later that night in their room, he said expectantly: "I've kept my part of the bargain, and you have your Vow. Now you must free me from your curse."

"And do I need to put up with a Cruciatus so that you can test the effect?" she said with a smile in her voice, but worry in her eyes.

"No," he said slowly. "But I want to give it a test. Let's say a Stinging Hex?"

"Ok. Drink this vial first." She held out a small vial of a clear liquid to him.

He sniffed it, a little suspicious. "What's this?"

"An antidote, in a way. It's not complicated, but it aims to reverse the effect of the ingested potion. It contains Fluxweed, Lionfish spines, Mistletoe berries, a scope of burned Wiggentree ashes and powdered Rattlesnake skin," she said, holding the vial up into the light, admiring her work.

"And that's it?" he said, looking skeptical.

"No, there is a spell too," she replied, working hard to keep her mouth from grinning.

He took the vial from her hand, and downed it in three gulps. "And…?" he lifted his eyebrows at her.

She felt her face break out in the wide grin she had held back, pointed her wand at him, and cast "_Finite Incantatem." _And like that, the curse was dispelled.

He looked incredulous. "That's it? A simple _ Finite_?" His face contorted into an almost disgusted grimace, and he muttered: "I almost _ died _ for a simple _ Finite_."

Though she was proud of her academic achievements, knowing that she could outperform almost anyone, she couldn't keep herself from gloating a little, because she rarely outperformed _ him. _

"Not quite," she replied, "a Finite wouldn't do without the antidote. The combination is the trick – as well as customizing the antidote to this particular potion.

He sent her a long look, and flicked his wand casually at her, sending a Stinging Hex at her left buttock.

"Ouch!" she cried, rubbing her butt.

And then he gave her a crooked, pleased smile, looking both relieved and mischievous. "I wasn't aiming for nice and helpful now." His eyes darkened as he locked his gaze on her hand, still rubbing her left cheek. "In fact, I think you might be in for a little punishment."

She shivered a little in anticipation, as he stepped up to her, looking down at her from his height as his arm came around her back, his hand grabbing a fistful of her hair. Leaning in, he kissed her hard, tongues clashing eagerly, and he held her head still by his forceful grip in her hair. She panted into his mouth, feeling heat simmering in her belly, and slowly, she rubbed her thighs together, squirming against him. He ground his hard, throbbing erection into her stomach, groaning slightly at the friction. 

Lifting his hand, he smacked her butt hard. "For deceiving me in the first place," he whispered. 

He delivered a Stinging Hex to her right cheek, and murmured: "For letting the solution be so childishly easy." With another smack of his hand, she found her arms tied up behind her back, gasping as the ties writhed like snakes.

Then he pushed her down on her knees in front of him, none too gently.

"Open up," he said, as he freed his cock from his trousers.

She licked her lips to moisten them, slowly opening her mouth to a small O, letting his cock enter her mouth, tasting that salty tang. _ He was so big, it was almost impossible to take all of him in her mouth. _

Still, he pushed further, inching and easing himself in her mouth. She sucked him in, feeling her jaw stretched, and he thrust slowly in and out of her mouth, glittering, dark eyes locked on her face. _ She was dripping now, powerfully aroused to be at his mercy, wanting nothing more than for him to touch her, to take her roughly. _

He groaned, hips picking up speed, before he withdrew from her mouth with a wet _ pop. _

Deliberately, she pouted at him, licking her lips. His response was to lift her up, Divest her of her clothes, and then he dumped her unceremoniously on the bed, her hands still tied at her back, and her face down into the mattress. The mattress shifted as his weight was added to hers, and he pulled her back, hips and knees up, aligning her into a prostrated position with her knees at the edge of the mattress.

His breath ghosted along her inner thighs, and she understood he was now kneeling on the floor, his face at the same height as her butt. His warm, large hands spread her thighs, and then she spasmed as his tongue flicked at her clit. _ Oh. Oh. This was so good, her pussy tingled by the contact, she wanted more, now, faster. _

She could feel him smile against her sex, and his tongue prodded, laved and teased her nub until she could feel her hole quivering, twitching, begging to be filled. When he thrust two, long fingers inside her, she screamed, her orgasm upon her, and she bucked her hips helplessly back at him to get more, more, more of those delicious fingers and that devilish tongue.

Panting, she almost couldn't keep her hips up, her muscles feeling as they had turned into quivering jelly. It wasn't a problem, though, because he rose, gripping her hips and holding her up, as he thrust his cock inside her, hard, urgent movements, proving to her that he was close to his edge. 

"You're so sexy when you come," he groaned, "you taste so good, and your tight little pussy clamps down so hard on me, squeezing like you're trying to break me." He pumped harder, using his hands to slam her butt against his hips, and as his orgasm hit, he moaned something incomprehensible. She felt his magic rear up, like it was about to take her, enter her own magic like he was taking her body, and the sensation hit powerfully as his magic thrust into hers.

In a blinding flash, she felt _ connected _to him, like every synapse and nerve ending were fused together, their powers rushing into a delicious merge of bliss. She came once more, clenching around him so tightly that she almost blacked out, his seed filling her up, dribbling out of her at the sides of his cock.

He fell down on the bed beside her, chest heaving as he stared up into the canopy. She was still tied up – _ marveling a little that he managed to keep up a spell, any spell, during his orgasm _ – and when she found her voice again, she whispered hoarsely: "Untie me."

She felt a weak brush of his magic, and her hands were free. Flopping over to her back, she nuzzled his shoulder, mind already buzzing with questions. "What was that?"

He turned his head at her, looking utterly debauched. "Sex magic. Benign."

"Are you sure?" she felt her eyebrows rise in a skeptical expression.

Huffing a little, he ended up by pulling her into his arms resting her head at his chest. "Sometimes, things are just what they are. Even you must, at times, take what I say at face value. This is … a kind of sexual enhancer. Not dangerous. It's not to control you. It's made for enjoyment."

"And why have I never heard of it?" she asked, still suspicious.

"Well, it isn't a secret, though not something Hogwarts would teach either, is it? Or at least not secret to those who routinely read obscure texts on Mind magic, love." He was grinning, she could feel it against her hair. She was quite certain that he had, apart from the great sex, been thrilled to test a new spell. _ And she was intrigued too. Just like him. _

Xxxx

By midnight the next evening, the visitors were all kneeling in the garden. It was one of those July nights, when the light seemed to linger on, and the smell of summer – flowers and greenery – were almost tangible. The crickets were singing, and the air was pleasantly cool after a hot, dusty and sunny day.

She stood by his side, but it was Tom who held their attention, as he said: "Tonight, we'll perform murder together in our exploration of magic, all to seek knowledge and to strengthen our powers. You are all in on this, but the severity of the act of killing a human is not to be taken lightly. No one can know about this but us, or the consequences will be dire for us all. Therefore, I require an oath of fealty from you all, a promise to obey my commands."

She could see his audience was rapt, hanging on his every word, but no one made the obvious conclusion that his request was highly illogical. _ A vow of silence would have been enough, _ she thought, _ there was no need to require an oath of fealty. _Staring at the kneeling group in front of them, she almost felt compassion for them.

One by one, they swore their life away to him as he named them Knights_ – the Knights of Walpurgis. _She knew that this was the start of his dreams of royalty, but the kneeling teenagers weren't aware of the quite literal sense he intended this for. 

They all bound themselves to obey her too, and it gave her goosebumps. _ In a way, it was a heady rush of power, but also frightening. She could order them to do … anything. _A flicker of red fire rose up in her, tendrils twirling inside her, making her enjoy that moment of power in a dark, twisted way.

"Now, my friends, we'll start our ritual," he crooned, pleased and just as high on the power as herself. With a swipe of his wand, he removed a Disillusioning spell, revealing the shape of a man lying on the grass. He was a rather short, plain fellow, eyes wide open but staring sightlessly up into the heavens.

"_Rennervate!" _At Tom's spell, the man blinked, trying to get his bearings. As his eyes fell on Tom, he screamed silently, obviously still Silenced. He trashed and writhed to get away, but he was held by invisible ropes to the ground.

The newly minted Knights stared at the man with excitement, and she felt a little queasy. _ Yes, I've killed too, _ she thought, _ but only to defend and to protect. Never like this, with a desire to hurt. _She caught a glance from Tom, and he took her hand, touching her briefly.

"This man will not be missed," he stated quietly. "He has committed repeated offences by raping several small boys. Is this a bad enough crime for you?"

She swallowed, feeling revulsion and a sick rage as she looked at the man. _ Abusing children… Oh, he deserved to die alright. _Her anger building, she almost felt like killing him herself. 

Meeting Tom's eyes, she nodded fiercely.

"Are you ready to create an Inferi?" he asked his followers, face shining in dark anticipation. 

They murmured their assent, eyes trained on Tom and the man, Walburga licking her lips, Antonin slowly, absently, sensuously stroking her thigh.

Hermione held herself very still. _ This will be the first time he uses Killing Curse in front of me, _ she realized with a start. _ Lord Voldemort's favorite curse – everyone in the future agreed on that. If I stick with him for all eternity, I'm likely to see this many times. _

His eyes filled with a wild, unholy light, and there was a blazing, brief flash of red in his eyes as he gathered his magic. In an instant, he built up his magic to an overwhelming pressure – _ she almost wanted to shield her ears, the power was thrumming against her head – _ and then he released it all, but his voice was as casual as if he asked for her to pass the salt: "_Avada Kedavra." _

The green flash lit up the garden, and then the trussed up man was dead. She heard a loud exhale from several of the Knights, as Tom quickly knelt by the dead body, slitting its throat with the darkly gleaming Inferi Knife, before he rose, pointing his pale wand at the body, casting the reviving spell: "_Revivesco Mortuum."_

It felt as if the garden became darker, colder, silent, as the dead man slowly moved, sitting up. Its eyes were white, vacant, and it sat there like a broken doll.

Exulting, Tom threw out his arms, and his wand flashed, and a large, green, glittering snake erupted from it, floating gently yet threateningly over their heads. She shuddered, remembering the Dark Mark. _ This was too close to comfort. And she was willing to swear, his cock would be throbbing hard in this instant. _

The Knights crowded around the Inferi, pulling at its legs and arms, checking its reflexes and awareness with cruel jabs and kicks. "What should we make him do? I'll let you choose," Tom asked them, managing a smile both magnanimous and mischievous.

A babble broke out, but quickly they were all in agreement: The Inferi was to wreak havoc in the Muggle village.

She protested, tugging at Tom's arm, but he was too far gone with the rest of them, crushing her to his side, saying: "It doesn't matter, it's just a bit of fun, we'll see how it plays out."

"No!" she said insistently, "those Muggles are innocent! They don't deserve that." When she saw this line of argument work, she opted to appeal to his self-preservation: "What about the Statue of Secrecy – we're the only wizarding folk here, as Lord and Master of the Manor you'll take the blame for sure."

He just shook his head, saying preoccupied: "That's what Obliviates are for, my dear, if the Aurors come a-snooping." 

Helpless, she saw him set the Inferi on a path of destruction, and their followers Disillusioned themselves, following its shambling gait towards the town. Tom grabbed hold of her, Levitating them both, flying after the monstrosity he had created to watch it from the air.

*_ flicker* _

She hid her face into his jacket, not wanting to see the terror on the faces of the poor villagers.

_ *flicker* _

She held her hands over her ears to avoid hearing the screams.

_ *flicker* _

She took deep sobbing breaths as the lights went out in the eyes of the young woman strangled by the Inferi.

_ *flicker* _

Her fists beat against his chest, her voice pleading hoarsely, again and again, for him to stop this madness.

_ *flicker* _

He Banished the Inferi to Merlin knew where.

Xxxx

Sick to her very core, she retched as he put her down, gently stroking her back. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understood that he and his Knights Obliviated the entire village, making a murder mystery of the woman who died.

Shouting, yelling and laughing wildly, the Knights made their way back to the house, and all she could think of was: _ This is what you get when you turn a gang of Death Eaters loose. _ She was in shock, and for once, she could feel pain. _ A deep, aching pain that she had been a part of something like this, albeit as an unwilling spectator. It was wrong on so many levels. _

Back at the house, the celebration got rowdier by the minute. Her well-behaved, Pure-blood, high society school mates poured down bottles of wine and hard liquor, spells to hurt each other were fired off by Marvin and Edward, both swaying drunkenly, brandishing their wands from each side of the parlor. Walburga undressed herself, straddling a naked Antonin in a chair, while Edmund stood by, leering at them, telling Antonin to hurry up so that he could take his turn. 

Druella was down on her knees, giving head to Cygnus, who leaned back at the mantel, eyes closed in bliss as he thrust himself into his younger cousin's mouth.

Hermione stood by the French windows, almost numb with the pain in her heart. _ This was no party. This was a Dark Revel, just as bad as in the future. And her husband, he stood calmly by her side, a small smile on his mouth, as he slowly, deliberately fondled her backside. _

She was about to turn to him, to tell him that she was throwing them all out of the house, no matter what _ he _ wanted, when Sebastian came in, dragging a naked and bloodied Muggle girl after him. The girl was softly crying, whimpering even, as Sebastian threw her on the floor, making her head ricochet off the floorboards with a dull thump. 

Several of the Knights stopped to peer curiously at Sebastian, and he leered nastily at the girl, saying: "I found her in the village, and would you believe it? She was the tightest virgin I've ever had, and the way she writhed around my cock as I Crucio'ed her was most exquisite. I suggest you all put her to good use, and then we kill her. She'd make a good Inferi."

There was a rushing sound in her head, and somehow, her vision was covered in a reddish-tinged film. She was barely aware as she lifted her wand at Sebastian, crying "_Expulso!" _

Sebastian flew backwards, crashing into Marvin Crabbe's broad frame, both of them ending in a heap. She advanced on them, eyes flaring, and Sebastian scooted backwards_ , _ flinging himself behind a chair. She hissed a "_Reducto" _ at the chair, reducing it to a pile of dust, as Sebastian had managed to cast a Stinging Hex at her. It hit her full-front, and she knew it must have stung her badly, but she almost didn't register it. Instead, she snarled "_Wingardium Leviosa__" _at Sebastian, dangling him in the air, legs kicking helplessly.

Suddenly stumbling, she almost fell to her knees as Sebastian blasted her with a strangled "_Confringo_!" and he fell down in a heap, thudding harshly down as she lost control of her spell.

Incensed, she cast "_Orbis," _watching with dark amusement as Sebastian was sucked into the floor, but he saved himself with a panicked "_Finite Incantatem! _" just in time before his arms were pulled in too. 

But really, she was done playing. Her hair crackled with her magic, and she could see a faint sheen of a dark red aura around her. _ My magic_, she thought briefly, detached, _ my dark, red, rage-filled magic, and this time, I don't even want to hold back. _She let it fill the room, a fiery wind whipping the curtains, lifting Walburga's long hair like trailing tendrils of black into the room.

"_Relashio!" S_he flung the Jinx at him, making Sebastian lose the grip on his wand, and it clattered to the floor.

In the corner of her eye, she noted that the Muggle girl scrambled away on all fours, looking just as scared of her as Sebastian and the rest. Bitterly Hermione realized: _ To her I seem just as dangerous as the rest – like a Death Eater, flinging magic and power around me to hurt and maim. _

Feeling a swirl of resentment – _ I'm saving you, don't you see? – _ she fed the feeling into her rage, into her magic. And there it was again, even easier to cast than last time, as it thrummed insistently in time with her heartbeat. _ Hurt him, he deserves it, make him bleed, he's a bastard, hurt him, it's unforgivable, make him pay… Unforgivable. _

There was no need to gather her fury and magic, it was all there for her to command this very instant, ready to blaze into the liquid fire of the curse, and she smiled, eyes glittering with malice at Sebastian: "_Crucio," _ she whispered, and all fell into place, like the world was set to rights.

A hard blast of lightning shot through her, making the room too bright for an instant, and the red flash connected to Sebastian. _ And oh, it was so good, she loved it, the fire burning in her, how wonderful, his screaming, he deserved it, _ ** _she_ ** _ deserved this, this feeling, to make him pay for this girl, for Mariette, and to have this sensuous fire running up and down her veins… _She was not aware that she had walked closer, standing almost on top of Sebastian, nostrils flaring like she enjoyed the smell of his fear, chest heaving as if she was aroused…

… and then a hand came around her wrist, and a deep, familiar voice said "enough."

Suddenly, the world wasn't as bright, as shining, as brilliant, and she looked down at the twitching form of Sebastian, as she leaned back into Tom's chest. _ At least, this time he's awake_, she thought with an odd detachment. Grimly, she realized she wasn't done. There was more rage to vent tonight.

Tom flicked his wand, making a small sound barrier between the two of them and the rest of the room. He said, deep voice sounding amused, leaning down to whisper in her ear: "Again, a very good Cruciatus. You do have a certain flair with this one." Then he turned serious. "I realize this was too much for you, darling, both the Inferi, the … what should I call this… it's more a _ revel _ than a party, yes?, and then Sebastian's behavior. While the revel is fairly innocent, the Inferi was a necessity for me. But Sebastian – I will agree with you that he's acting like a rabid dog."

He stroked her upper arms, and goosebumps formed along her arms. Horrified, she felt _ aroused _ by him, her core almost dripping, and as he ground himself slowly at her butt, she could feel his hot, hard bulge poking her. _ Merlin, sweet Morgana – what am I turning into? Am I turning into one of _ ** _them? _ **

Her train of thoughts were interrupted as he turned her around, so that they were facing each other. She was almost breathless, as her gaze locked on the darkness in his eyes.

He whispered into her ear: "Sebastian's behavior won't do in our new plans, in our bright, new, royal future of magical knowledge and power. We must put a stop to it. I've entered Sebastian's mind, and he's too far gone, now. Too much mindless violence, no restraint to temper his urges. We need to execute violence with more cunning in the future." 

His voice took on a silky, seductive character, and she shivered as he continued: "Hermione, you can put a stop to it, setting an example for the others. You can stop it, right now, put him down _ for me _ like I know you want to, or you can let him loose for a few more days, weeks, months, before he's caught by the Aurors for another rape, another violent attack, destroying the life of another witch or Muggle woman. It's your choice, darling. You can do this for me, _ for us_, right now."

She felt tormented, as Tom lifted the sound barrier. Looking at the deathly pale, cowering Muggle woman still lying on the floor, she thought: _There's so much sense in what he says, Sebastian Lestrange will rape, maim and kill. Our court can't be anything like the revels of Voldemort in the future. But to kill for him, doing his bidding – it was almost impossible. Dumbledore had advised her against killing anyone, not to risk hurting her soul again._ _But still…_

Then Sebastian coughed, droplets of blood flying with his spit to splatter on the floor. He looked at her, afraid, but still proud and sneering, saying: "You won't dare to torture me again. I'm a Lestrange, I can do what I bloody well like to Muggles, Mudbloods and stuck-up little witches. My blood protects me. I have the right!"

Inside, she felt a deep regret for letting him live. _ This was awful. _ It would only continue – on, and on, and on for all eternity. Death, torture, power abuse, forevermore. Love might save the world, but hunger for power made it all go around. 

In a way, Tom was right: _ There was only power, and those too weak to seek it. _ In such a world, kindness would be absent. _ But could love still exist in such a harsh environment? _

She made a split-second decision.

As she lifted her wand, Tom's smile was delighted, wicked – and promised her centuries of pleasure and power. She pointed her slender vine-wand to her destined victim. The green light flashed through the room as she whispered: "_Avada Kedavra." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter will be posted on New Years Eve (obviously, lol).


	24. Epilogue: Forever Absent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first, it would seem like a political movement, led by a bright, young star politician, but it would morph into his darker dream before long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for following and commenting on Absence! I love you all for your support, questions and criticism – and I hope you've enjoyed the ride. I certainly have! 
> 
> Writing Absence was like a six-month obsession, and in revisiting and revising this for AO3, I felt those tendrils reaching out again to draw me in. For me, Absence is most of all a story of compromise, when the world isn't the way you want it, and you struggle to put at least some of it to rights, but you know you'll never be able to change everything. You just do what you can to salvage some of it. 
> 
> Also, this last chapter goes up on New Year's Eve in my time zone. Happy birthday to our favourite big bad! ;-)

The waves were churning at the prow of the boat, as they stamped towards England in a brisk headwind. Her hair was whipped by gusts of wind, making it even wilder and more tumultuous than usual, but her warming charm kept her nice and cozy inside her grey Muggle coat. 

Great, white clouds marched in the skies, casting shades and patches of sunlight on the waves. Her back was warm, though, because of the body heat emanating from the tall frame behind her.

She smiled, as his arms snaked around her, caressing her belly, and she turned halfway to him, saying: "I'd never thought I'd see you on Muggle transportation."

He snorted a little before he replied: "I would never leave you to travel alone like this. So Muggle ferry it is." Then he said slyly: "You turned down my offer of flying, though."

Shivering with mild disgust at the thought, she said decisively: "From Paris to Little Hangleton? Never. And, especially not _ now. _"

He patted her belly again, and was rewarded by a strong kick, distending her stomach for a moment into an odd, foot-shaped form. She felt him smile into her hair. _ He always did that when he felt the movements of their son, and she found it endearing, though truth to be told, her husband had very few ‘endearing’ traits. _

As for him as a father – there was no telling how he would act as a parent. She supposed, he was a better husband than she had imagined. But raising a small child? _ Well, she'd be there, saving the world as always, if need be _. He looked incredible in a Muggle suit, though, she noted with a small smile.

In the distance, something white was growing out of the ocean – the cliffs of Dover. "Are you ready?" he asked softly.

"I know the plan," she said. "But you have to keep your end of it. _ No _ unnecessary killings."

He nodded, repeating her phrase, though stressing a different word: "No _ unnecessary _killings."

She supposed, she'd have to accept that, though it wasn't ideal. He was returning to England in triumph and as a hero, being the most awarded student in the long history of Sorbonne for his accomplishments, plus sporting the award First Class Order of Jeanne d'Arc from the French Ministry of Magic. 

The award was a complete sham, as he had gotten it for saving a group of children from a vicious attack from a pack of werewolves. The truth was, of course, that the attack had been a set-up, to ensure recognition and fame, though he _ had _ singlehandedly crushed a pack of six werewolves. She had helped to set it all up, admitting to herself that it probably wasn't her finest hour, but in her defense, she had thrown shields around the children, protecting them, while he had been attacking the werewolves. Still, her very own First Class Order was _ not _something she wore with pride.

Sighing, she pleaded: "Voldemort, you _ know _ how I feel about this."

He had shed his old name like the snake he was, when first arriving in Paris. No one at the Sorbonne had batted an eyelid to his name, after all, it was a French derivation. And slowly, ever so slowly, she had started to address him by that name in everyday life too, not only in the bedroom. It was strange in the beginning, but not anymore. In her mind, he had been Voldemort all the time, it was just a question of equating that with the physical reality of Tom Riddle's handsome face.

"I know," he whispered, rubbing his thumb over her belly. "That's why this will work so well."

In France, he had completed the three year-education in half the time. After that, he had served almost five years as a Sorbonne Dark Arts professor and as an advisor to the French Minister of Magic. For herself, she had become a research fellow in Arithmancy and Charms, with glittering academically results. She prided herself on her research, and the recognition she found in the frequent citations of her published works.

In their return to Britain, her role was to build up a British, magical university, promoting learning, justice and peace, giving his rule the touch of humanity it would sorely need. He was to set himself up as the supreme ruler of the British Wizarding world, starting with infiltrating and taking control of the Ministry and the Wizengamot with the help of his followers. 

At first, it would seem like a political movement, led by a bright, young star politician, but it would morph into his darker dream before long.

Sighing, she looked up at him, feeling sure that they would make it. "It will work, the question is _ how_," she said firmly, and the familiar chill ran down her spine, the one she felt every time she thought about this.

_ Oh, she'd help him, and do everything in her power to make their plans come to pass_. She had made her choice to love him, killing Sebastian Lestrange for him, and shown her support again and again by plotting, planning and contributing to his coups.

In their future, she would be the compassionate queen, lulling the public into believing their cause to be good, nurturing a just society. He'd be the strong ruler, harsh when needed, but a charming family man and a powerful wizarding king. And their little son would be the crowning glory: A princeling, the heir, giving the promise of stability and strength. So much of their real goals and actions would be absent from public scrutiny, hidden deeply under the glossy façade they would present to the world.

But she would have to fight him, every single step of the way, to ensure he didn't dip into total darkness, supreme madness and casual killings. 

No one would know of their fights, when _ he _ pulled for brutality and harsh punishments, and _ she _ dragged him back across the line of justice and decency – though only barely, and sometimes not at all. _ No one _ would know that those fights would happen daily. But _ everyone _would know in those cases where she lost and his darker side won out.

"I need you for this," he said in her ear, kissing her earlobe.

"I know," she replied softly.

And at last, the absence of her future life felt _ right. _ It was lost to her – _ she had failed Harry and her own timeline _. Instead, she had created an alternative timeline out of her own failure to rid the world of Voldemort. With him, she'd make a difference to the world, creating a stronger, better magical community in Britain, saving the world from darkness on a daily basis.

He fondled her Time-turner, and then moved his left hand down to her fingers, slowly stroking her wedding ring, his right cradling her belly. "We'll rule forever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are oneshots or shorter stories from this storyverse, and I’ll be posting them as related work later on. 
> 
> The inspiration for this fic is a song, Deus in Absentia, from a metal band called Ghost. The lyrics for the song have been a guideline for my plot through the entire story – which is why I didn't want to reveal it until the end. The lyrics immediately made me think of Hermione, her thirst for knowledge and fear of failing, Tom, his lust for power and his revels – and an evolving relationship between the two. Here it is (I own nothing):
> 
> Ghost: Deus in Absentia
> 
> Verse:  
In this your time of need  
You're turning to the light  
You had just begun to explore the dark  
In the urban night
> 
> Chorus:  
The world is on fire  
And you are here to stay and burn with me  
Our funeral pyre  
And we are here to revel forevermore
> 
> Verse:  
You're so God damn frail  
Failing for a change  
You just had to know all about the world  
But you will never know  
'Cause no one ever told you how
> 
> Chorus:  
The world is on fire  
And you are here to stay and burn with me  
A funeral pyre  
And we are here to revel forever
> 
> All of your imaginations  
Are now running down your face
> 
> Verse:  
Oh, you are looking good  
Bareback in disgrace  
And you are doing fine worshipping your lord  
Standing in his grace  
'Cause no one ever told you how
> 
> Chorus:  
The world is on fire  
And we are tied as one eternally  
Our funeral pyre  
And we are here to revel forevermore


End file.
